


Draco Malfoy and the Obnoxious Stone

by xEdoru



Series: Who needs a redemption arc when you can rewrite history? [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Gen, Redemption, Time Travel, no beta we die like men, ptsd mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xEdoru/pseuds/xEdoru
Summary: Draco tumbled out of a distantly familiar bed in a panic. What was he doing in the Manor, in his eleven year old body? How did he travel back in time? Where was his original self?While searching for answers, he’s roped into helping Gryffindors and ends up questioning his past. Even though he’s trying to return to his timeline, it might be good to try fixing his old mistakes in this one, right?
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), they’re eleven
Series: Who needs a redemption arc when you can rewrite history? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025227
Comments: 25
Kudos: 97





	1. Awakening

A warm strong gust of air from an open window woke him up all at once. Something didn’t feel right, Draco thought as he tumbled out of his suddenly taller bed, reaching for his wand. It wasn’t there. He rushed to check the drawers of the bedside table, under pillows, on the floor. Gone, as if Potter got his hands on it again. 

The distraction was excuse enough that only when reaching for clothes he realised just how skewed the whole world looked. Everything was bigger and filled him with a sense of deja vu. The mirror had to be charmed, there was no other way to explain the blond child staring back at him in shock. Draco reached to touch the reflection, and looked down. Indeed, his limbs were short, slightly rounded with baby fat and lacking definition. 

Either he was asleep, or something was terribly wrong.

It was only after a considerable time spent panicking and attempting to wake himself up, as well as his mother’s call to breakfast, that Draco put himself together to go through the day. He needed a plan of action, something to hold onto when the memories surrounding him became overwhelming. 

Most of the day passed in a cruel slog, without any opportunity for him to explore the library undisturbed. The last thing he needed was to cause alarm, he thought. There was no spell or time turner that could transport you that far back in time, nor change your body to match. There was no sign of his child self anywhere, either. Draco had nothing more to go on from his years of education, time travel being a relatively sore subject even at home since the destruction of all time turners in the Ministry at the end of fifth year.  
There were, however, plenty magical object whose properties might include this peculiar form of time travel, he theorised over dessert, largely ignoring his parents’ attempts to include him in conversation. 

“Draco, dear.” His mother finally captured his attention while they settled in the parlour for the evening. “You’ve been awfully quiet and distracted all day. Is something amiss?” 

“No... not at all, Mother.” Draco hesitated as his mind instinctively reached for occlumency. “I’m only thinking of how to use the rest of summer to start school prepared.” 

He hoped it was a good enough reason to explain his change in behaviour, after all the last time around he couldn’t stop imagining and predicting all the wonderful things that would meet him at the castle. Quidditch team, Harry Potter, showing off the handful of spells he practiced with his father’s wand all summer, all the new friends he would gather. This sudden anxiety and silence was a big change to happen overnight. 

“You’re going to become a respectable head of the family in due time, darling, don’t you worry. You don’t have to grow up just yet." She wanted to reassure him, but didn't know the true cause of his stress. Draco appreciated it nonetheless. "Tomorrow, we can find some useful tomes for you to study in the library. They should last you until we head to Diagon Alley next week.” 

It seemed she was happy to go along with his lie at worst, or fully believed Draco just wanted to study at best. At least he finally had a better grasp on the exact time in the past he was sent to. He could only hope this was merely a bad dream from a spoiled batch of dreamless sleep potion. That he would wake up from it tonight, and the whole experience would quickly wipe itself from his mind, as most dreams tended to do. Draco spent time until then taking turns playing chess against his parents, and getting up to angrily attack piano keys in guise of practice once his winning streak was broken. A regular evening activity he remembered fondly from his no longer distant childhood. Draco also remembered a couple muggleborns’ screams interspersed with broken piano tones as his aunt or Greyback welcomed them into the Manor for a 'friendly chat'. A frigid shiver passed through him, the piano loudly expressing his unease when his fingers landed on the wrong chord. The memory continued to plague him without mercy for the rest of the evening. 

That night, Draco worried about remaining stuck there, in the past. What would happen to his old timeline if he couldn’t return to it? Would he have to live out his teenage years, and the war once more? If he were to do so, he hoped that he could stop the pain and suffering of his family and perhaps even those hurt because of his cowardice in the future-past. 

He dreamt of sleep, rougher bedsheets, and an unnerving stillness. No breeze, no sounds of rustling or steps, no movement in his limbs. A panic grew quickly from a tiny murmur in the back of his mind, confused and stuck, to heaving on his breaths as Draco bolted up, once again in his moonlit childhood bedroom. The window burst open, edges hitting the wall stonework from his frantic efforts. He paced around to and from the bed, trying to walk out the nervous energy, but it only compounded the anxiety about his current predicament. There was nothing to be done so late at night, without resources, he knew that as a fact. Yet nothing seemed to stop the barrage of vulnerability and fear which struck him to the core. 

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is ever as easy as Draco would want it to be. At least after visiting Diagon Alley he’ll finally have a wand again.   
> Why don’t his problems just resolve themselves?

The excitement he felt truly rivalled that of his younger self at the time, only for completely different reasons. Once his mother got herself involved in his preliminary schoolwork, he had little daytime left for research on more pressing issues. After all, Draco couldn’t say whether he was here on borrowed time. Perhaps the situation would resolve itself if left alone, but he couldn’t sit around assuming it would. 

Their shoes dug into smaller gravel lining the path from the Manor, cracking and scraping in time with their rhythmic steps. Today marked the first real opportunity both to find out information, and begin introducing small changes to actions he regretted and their dire consequences.   
Nevertheless, old habits do tend to stick, and as such Draco hoped to avoid meeting Potter until he couldn’t put it off any more. Ideally, after he has fixed his time travelling situation and returned home. Best to leave that issue to his younger self, in fact. The Malfoy family made their way to Diagon Alley as swiftly and easily as ever. Before long, Draco was surrounded with excitable shoppers and colourful window displays. A considerable difference to the peaceful isolation of the Manor and its grounds. 

“Now, Draco. Your mother and I understand you’ve been keen to not only learn the syllabus this year, but also expand on it a rather great deal. If your current reading habits persist we’ll run out of suitable material before the school year starts.” Lucius Malfoy’s voice barely resembled anything beyond neutrality, but Draco could see the subtle hint of amusement and satisfaction on his father’s face. 

“There are a few titles I have in mind, mentioned in tomes from the library. I could go pick them out while you and mother go visit the vaults?” He suggested, his tone skimming past demand yet stopping before it could reach authority. 

“Perhaps you should join your mother at the wand maker’s, Gringott’s shouldn’t be long.” 

It seemed like his father found the requests somewhat unusual. Draco couldn’t remember what caused his parents to leave him at the tailor shop unsupervised last time, but it clearly would take more than this. Perhaps he hadn’t been a believable replacement, or his occlumency was not as strong as he hoped. Either way, the only thing he could do was follow along. 

“That old crook better find me a great wand.” He drawled with growing frustration, following close behind Narcissa. 

The store was unremarkable, not maintained enough to read as luxurious despite excellent calligraphy on the sign. He remembered when death eaters carried out the hit on Ollivander, filling the halls with their hysterical laughter, drunk on power from destroying half the shops on Diagon alley for fun. The shop owner couldn’t prevent the violence and damage back then, and he shouldn’t have to in this reality. If only... That was none of his business, Draco rationalised. He wasn’t going to be here long, and had plenty to do without being weighed down with reignited guilt over every single victim of war singeing his conscience. The air inside the narrow shop felt heavy with dust, and he couldn’t resist the reactive cough. 

“Good morning, another young wizard off to Hogwarts come autumn I presume?” The man peered from behind a stack of boxes piled on the counter. He turned towards Narcissa, speaking with a level of familiarity too high considering the last time he saw her was when she purchased her own wand. “Unless this one has finally decided to give you some grief?”

She did not indicate an answer in either way, but Ollivander undoubtedly took it for encouragement to continue voicing his obsession with his creations. 

“Unicorn hair, black walnut, surprisingly inflexible... I might even say it’s quite impressive to avoid a fight with that combination. It tends to cultivate a preference for finesse in spell casting. But enough about that.” Ollivander cut himself off. A flick of the wrist and Draco found measuring tape extending from the tip of his nose to the floor. Part of him hoped to avoid all the fuss, and just ask for his old wand, but it was a treat to experience the excitement of getting his first wand again. The shop owner narrated the process with a passion reserved only for artists and fanatics. One by one, the suggested wands refused to react, as if they felt he was already bound, leaving Ollivander somewhat puzzled, but undeterred. Eventually Draco felt the familiar hilt and weight in his fingers, magic swelling from within in joy of being chosen by a wand. Snowflake-like sparks surged around for a brief moment before fading out. His wand finally where it belongs, he thought, blocking out Ollivander listing the properties and preferences he already knew.

Feeling a surge of self assurance, Draco left his mother to pay, claiming he wanted to take a good look at the Nimbus 2000 before his father tired of waiting. There was a considerable crowd of children growing by the window display, it would be too much effort to push past them all. A few boys at least a foot taller blocked the view of anything past the smooth tail. Draco turned away in frustration, fully prepared to storm off towards Flourish and Blotts, or back to his mother, but was instead met by another body. Their heads crashed together hard enough to send him to the floor, hands scraping on the cobblestone. Draco couldn’t hold in his indignant response. “Watch where you’re going, idiot.” Followed by a whispered curse as pain finally registered. 

“Sorry! Though you should look around too or you’ll the one called an idiot” a hesitant voice joined the outstretched hand before Draco reacted. 

“Yeh aight ‘Arry? I jus saw yeh knockin heads, seems yeh came out better off, at least.” Draco recognised the booming voice and accent immediately, after all he spent years mocking the half giant during and between Care of magical creatures lessons. If Hagrid was here, that would imply... he grasped the offered hand. Of course he had to literally run into Harry Potter almost as soon as he decided to avoid running into him figuratively. The scruffy boy rubbing the back of his head with an unoccupied hand looked entirely too small, too young to be the future hope of the magical world. There were not enough words to describe the feelings surging inside Draco. As far as he was concerned no one else had experienced bringing a war back in time within himself, only to meet ghosts and victims he didn’t protect, and see the key to victory before constant fight to survive shaped the boy into a battle ready man. It seemed that despite everything that would oppose such sentiments, Draco was doomed to idolise Potter from childhood. 

“I’m okay, Hagrid,” Potter smiled at the man, then turned to Draco. “Are you? I’m Harry, by the way.”

Draco cleared his throat as he rubbed the grit and blood out of his hands on his robe, before introducing himself. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, that is.” His voice was too stiff, mind unprepared for such a casual encounter with someone he disliked for most of his life. “Accident aside, it’s uh... nicetomeetyou.”

Thankfully the half giant processed his name and quickly dragged the boy off with a reasonable excuse of a tight schedule. It would have been even worse if his parents witnessed the exchange and fall. Once she caught up to him and ensured he wasn’t attacked or seriously hurt, Narcissa scolded Draco for running off, before she soothed the scratches and cleaned the slight stains on his robe with precise and quick spells on their way to Flourish and Blott’s. 

Lucius was engrossed in a boring conversation with another ministry employee, unaware of all the customers they were inconveniencing by standing there. Narcissa offered to find the assigned booklist, letting him explore freely. He was drawn to arguably (and objectively) the best section: alchemy. He remembered the surprise his grandfather got when Draco asked to join the class after fifth year. Of course he wanted to reach for greater achievement than a ministry position or mastery of potions. Well, technically professional alchemy required a near mastery of potions and built on it... He got distracted. What was he looking for in the first place? 

How to fix his time travel issue. Running into Harry Potter must have rattled him more than he thought if he could put being stuck as an eleven year old out of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m trying to make something happen here, but haven’t written anything creatively in a while. Hope it’s good enough right now.


	3. Futility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has to get better after it gets worse, right?

“You better have a good reason for not writing back to most of my letters last month.” Pansy Parkinson announced the moment her head made it through the threshold of the train compartment. Draco couldn’t push down a feeling of guilt and let himself get distracted enough to lose a round of exploding snap against Goyle. He had barely just calmed enough to look in Crabbe’s direction, thank you very much, and did not want more reminders of the future mistakes he would make. 

“Well, they were rather dull. I didn’t think my input would change how the weather ruined your plans,” his friend bristled, but that’s how they always worked best together. “You remember weather spells exist, don’t you? Why do they have to be natural thunderstorms?” 

“It’s not the same.” she stretched the vowels, petulant. Draco shifted closer to the window to make room for them both. The train only set off a few moments prior, and were he to peer out the windows, he would still be able to catch the last parents waving goodbye to some student he would have probably seen tortured or killed if Draco paid any attention to anyone’s suffering in the war.

“You got to play quidditch with your cousins, nothing to complain about. Did you work on your catches?”

Pansy, in fact, did not practice her catches this summer, and told Draco exactly what she thought about spending precious time with obnoxious and spoilt kids. This time, Draco stopped himself for pointing out she should fit right in with that crowd. She really did seem put out. 

Instead, Draco reached for the abandoned book on obscure age altering potions he pocketed at Flourish and Blott’s while browsing for non-incriminating books that could still be useful. There wasn’t as much choice at the store as he hoped for, but the library at Hogwarts would definitely have an answer, he couldn’t accept anything else. The dusty, in all likelihood outdated, tome had yet to provide a good lead on his situation. On the bright side, if he wanted to remain in this 11 year old body for much longer than a year or return to a more adult form, he now knew half a dozen ways of making it happen and the side effects of each one. 

With a sigh, Draco rejoined the discussion about exactly how much cheating in chess is permissible before it’s embarrassing even if you don’t get caught. He hated playing against Pansy on days she decided there was no limit. The other boys somehow ended up entertaining them with all the misadventures they ended up in over the last month, not sugar coating their own ignorance or stupid ideas in the slightest. Before long, though, the conversation died out, probably because no one was used to Draco not vying for the spotlight at every opportunity. 

Draco climbed up onto the seat with his book in hand to find his school robes and less frustrating reading material. Everything was going well until he forgot he wasn’t tall enough to step back to pull his trunk down without tumbling down. The trunk avoided squashing him by an inch, but that wasn’t enough to soften the blow to his ego (or his behind). The other kids bursting into laughter definitely didn’t help the issue one bit. 

“Ahaha maybe you need to pra-haha practice more swan dives off a stage!” Pansy’s tone couldn’t even reach mocking, she was too busy trying to hold back her laughter. “You were so graceful before .” 

“Maybe it’s puberty.“ Crabbe choked out, visibly preening at the rare opportunity to berate him. Goyle laughed so hard he started a coughing fit. Draco would never hear the end of it at this rate. He had to clear his head and recover whatever dignity he could. 

He got up with as much poise as he could, considering the burning in his cheeks and ears, and slammed to door on his way out. The food trolley witch would be doing a round by now, he figured, he could buy some sweets for their silence. 

He almost reached the front of the train by the time he caught up to the trolley. While the lady counted out change, Draco could have sworn he saw a green chocolate frog jump out of a wrapper and onto her shoulder, but the woman didn’t react. The return journey was slower both with residual embarrassment and the weight of bribes filling his pockets. He pushed past a few groups of older students, who seemed to be debating if Harry Potter was on the train, one of them claiming the boy must have gone abroad to hide from vengeful Death Eaters and will definitely be attending Durmstrang. 

Draco almost ran into Hermione Granger as she marched out of a compartment with enough determination and energy to trample right over him. 

“You haven’t seen a toad around, have you?” She asked. “A boy called Neville is looking for one, its name is Trevor.” 

Draco wasn’t ready. Potter was one thing, he could still hate the Chosen One. But here stood Granger before he belittled and demeaned her in front of most, before he teased and bullied her for being smarter and more dedicated, before witnessing the torture she endured in his home. He felt sick. 

“Well? Have you seen one around or not?” Granger prompted again.

“What’s the point of looking? The toad must have taken one look at him and realised it was a lost cause” what was he doing? He wanted to fix things, or to run away from all those he hurt before. Not preemptively insult them. Draco couldn’t tell whether he felt ill, angry, or just tired. 

“How dare you. You can’t say things like that!” 

Their heated exchange drew attention from the compartment beside them, it’s door opening to show a tall ginger (definitely Ron Weasley), and Potter. This settled it, Draco had to be stuck in his personal hell. 

“Oi! What’s going on?” Weasley grumbled. “Can’t you question him somewhere else?” 

“Hey, it’s you again. Draco Malfoy?” Potter chimed in, sounding out his name as though it was difficult to remember.

“You know him? Ask him if he’s seen Neville’s toad.” Granger put Potter between her and Draco with a couple steps back. 

“It’ll be a public service to let the toad go. It belongs with a proper wizard.” 

Apparently, Draco just couldn’t help himself. 

“Of course the git would say that. Forget about it Harry, Hermione. Don’t expect any good from a Malfoy.” Weasley exclaimed with pride. The worst part was it wasn’t completely wrong. Still, Draco was already worked up and past the point of no return. 

“I don’t even need to ask your name, Weasley. Father says your parents have more children than garden gnomes. Figures Potter would take pity on a charity case like you.” Weasley’s face turned scarlet, and both boys seemed ready for a fistfight, Draco realised a little late with a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Anyway, I have better things to be doing.” 

He swerved out of range just in case one of them decided to go for a punch, and carried on. He wouldn’t admit to feeling guilt about coming full circle when it comes to these three, but something pushed him to mention the food trolley witch to Granger as he passed. The toad was probably long gone by then, anyway. 

His friends greeted him somewhat remorsefully, and they spent the rest of the way to Hogwarts playing cards and enjoying his snacks. Not long after sunset the train came to a stop. Draco couldn’t contain his excitement. They followed other first years to the lake shore, where Hagrid packed them into boats. A breathtaking reflection of the stars spread around them on patches of still water. They cut through it, gentle ripples appearing around them like a gathered shimmering silk. It was a real shame only first years got to experience this sight. 

“Has someone forgotten a toad?” Hagrid helped an embarrassed Longbottom climb back into the boat. They must have found it on the train, but the amphibian seemed to know what it wanted. 

Draco kept to a group of pureblood students and away from the soon to be gryffindors, only slightly preoccupied by a possible continuation of their argument on the train, but Professor McGonagall didn’t make them wait long. 

He lost focus, staring at the teacher table. He felt faint, palms sweating, and couldn’t tear his eyes away from Severus Snape and Dumbledore. Here they were, alive and unaware. A song reached him more like wind wailing outside tightly closed doors, he couldn’t join in if his life depended on it. McGonagall repeated his name twice before anything broke Draco out of thought. It was his turn. He pushed past a smaller kid out of his way to the Sorting Hat. 

“My, my... this should be the first time we meet, young man. Yet, I see you have already found yourself amongst loyal snakes.” 

“Just put me where I belong, it’s been a long day already,” Draco thought, grinding his teeth in frustration. 

“Now, let’s not be hasty... It’s true you still have Slytherin on your mind, but is it truly where your heart lies?” The Hat carried on. “Gryffindor could hone your courage and quench a thirst for justice, child. You could make a bigger difference than you ever thought possible.” 

Draco looked up at Severus, at the headmaster, at the faces of all these children doomed to take part in a war they didn’t want. If he could slow Voldemort’s return, maybe they could all be safe. The war could be stopped before it even began. He caught Potter, staring at him with a mixture of worry and disgust. 

“Forget it, I wouldn’t be caught dead with that lot. Even Hufflepuff would be better than Gryffindor.” 

“Another difficult one, I see. Have it your way...” 

The Slytherin table cheered at the Hat’s decision, as Draco took a seat opposite Crabbe and Goyle, who were too busy trying to stare food into existence on the empty plates between them.  
The rest of the sorting went as expected. Nott, Theodore and Pansy joined them with a lot less fanfare than Draco or Potter, who ended up causing an uproar by landing in Gryffindor. Weasley followed suit, and finally Zabini, Blaise sat on Draco’s unoccupied side. 

“I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy.” 

“Blaise Zabini. Does the Hat actually listen to us? I thought I saw you talking back to it.” 

“It does, when someone is good enough to be in two houses. I hear it’s rare for a real hat stall to happen. It has to take more than five minutes.” 

“Sweet! Which house did you turn down for better company?” He asked with a grin.

“... Ravenclaw.” 

“Well, then it’s settled Draco. That puts you in charge of making sure we all pass!” Pansy joined in on his other side with a laugh. She gestured with a tilt of her head, pointing out Crabbe and Goyle. “We’ll definitely need a miracle for those two to make it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s so hard to stay motivated before we get to more fun parts, but I don’t know if these chapters could be skipped really.


	4. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The school year begins for real and Draco keeps questioning himself.  
> He isn’t a hero in this or any story, and he would kindly appreciate if this world didn’t ask him to be one.

Draco rested his head against a window beside his bed, watching in fascination as a young selkie performed elaborate tricks. It was unusually kind of them to notice an audience in the first place and try to distract him from tears, too. He waved and clapped in appreciation, once the creature paused. 

The dormitory remained empty, beside Millicent Bulstrode’s cat, Hester, scratching up Zabini’s bedpost and tormenting another boy’s supposedly magical, and definitely against the rules, hamster. All other students were likely getting to dessert in the great hall; Draco decided to forgo dinner to privately wallow in self pity and guilt from not solving anything so far. Somehow, he also managed to keep antagonising everyone he should make amends with, and often forgot time travel research. 

He had long finished reading every book on age altering potions he could find in the library, aside from the restricted section, and decided to move on to artefacts and vessels for bedside literature. Finding material was the easy part, reading on the other hand... He hadn’t opened a single book from the considerable pile in almost a week. With a last wave to the selkie, Draco stuffed a random book into his bag, picked up Hester, and headed to the common room. His housemates would be returning soon, ready to finish off their essays on perils of transfiguring animals from inanimate objects. 

His favourite armchair by the fireplace was unoccupied, as usual. Even older Slytherins kept their distance after Draco hexed one of the second years, who just chose the wrong first year to bully. The cat settled in Draco’s lap as soon as he found a comfortable position. 

The book he picked detailed advancements in magical vessel creation since the 19th century. It seemed indirect, but a majority of the listed items were used for time and space manipulation. 

“Let’s at least finish a chapter, before it gets loud.” He got a disinterested meow in reply. 

In a surge of motivation, Draco sped through a half of the book pile that week, mostly due to an enchanted self-writing quill that was faithfully transcribing all dull History of Magic lectures he used to sleep through. If only he came up with this method in the past, he might have done much better on exams, he thought. 

“I’m going to learn a duplication spell before exams, even if it kills one of you,” joked Daphne Greengrass during one of their study sessions, midway through copying a parchment on Goblin rebellions in Ireland. “Don’t give me that look Enid, we know you’d rather set Vince on fire than rewrite these by hand.” 

Enid Howell, a quiet and driven first year housemate, looked down at her homework, cheeks lightly coloured in embarrassment. 

“Write, don’t complain Daphne. You’re holding up the line.” Interrupted Nott. 

Draco’s attention drifted from the other Slytherins to a handful of students he recognised in the library. There were the regular third year Ravenclaws at a nearby table, a Weasley Prefect requesting something from the restricted section, the Patil twins giggling down one of the isles, and Granger sitting alone surrounded by a mountain of books.  
He was somewhat sympathetic about how ostracised she managed to make herself in just a couple weeks of school. However, the guilt and shame Draco felt about how he treated her were not quite enough for him to attempt befriending her. He tried to tell himself that not interfering made sure she would end up friends with Weasley and Potter, but it was just a convenient excuse. 

“Draco... are you listening?” Zabini’s hand waving dangerously close to his nose brought him back.

“Yes?” 

“How did you know adding powdered asphodel root would fix our potion? I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

“Well, that’s simple. The heat was too-“

“Forget about boring homework. Do you know when we’ll finally start flying lessons?” he was rudely interrupted. 

“That’s a little off topic considering you’ve still got at least three inches left on your potions essay, Goyle. Two weeks, more or less.” Draco still remembered their first ever lesson and all the fallout from it. He wasn’t looking forward to helping Potter join the quidditch team.

“There’s nothing to do in this school.” He huffed, rolling up his essay in defeat.

“Besides learning.” Draco pointed out.

“Besides learning.” Chimed in an equally crushed Crabbe.

The astronomy tower was slowly uncoupling itself from his memories of sixth year, and the headmaster’s final moments. Every week so far, Draco couldn’t stop himself from taking extra time to put away his telescope and star charts just to torment himself with guilt. He still wasn’t sure if he could have trusted Dumbledore to save him and his family if he made a different choice on that fateful night, but he hoped and that hope turned to self loathing. As he peered over the edge, the drop into misty darkness appeared infinite. Draco felt dread rise his stomach and his hands tighten on the safety railing. 

It was getting past the excusable time to remain outside of the Slytherin dungeons; he knew most prefects and teachers would jump at the chance to take off points and stop them winning the House Cup again. Taking a calming, deep breath of the cold air, he was ready to leave.

The castle always set him on edge at night, there were too many nosey portraits, suits of armour conveniently appearing in his peripheral vision, not to mention the notorious Mrs. Norris. Draco rushed trough open hallways and staircases, using all the hidden shortcuts he could remember. Just as he neared the dungeons, a pair of glowing eyes and loud hissing made him jump and stumble onto the floor. Draco lifted his wand with an unsteady hand, and cast a soft ‘lumos’. A young, tortoiseshell cat peered at him, it’s body positioned defensively. They must have scared each other equally, Draco felt somewhat reassured. He got up, slowly approached the frightened creature, and pet it gently. 

“I really don’t have time for this, you know? You should be sucking up to your owner, not a stranger you just scared half to death.” 

The cat predictably ignored his protest. Draco gave it a little more attention, before continuing on his way back to the dormitory. Most of the other boys were asleep. A barely awake Nott directed a questioning look in his direction, but gave up with a yawn when Draco ignored him. It was a long day. 

His slow transformation into wakefulness over breakfast the next morning was considerably sped up by an unexpected arrival of one of the family long eared owls, Estienne. It dropped off a letter and small decorative box filled with his favourite sweets. 

It was only then that Draco remembered promising his parents to write often. He was really doing a poor job of imitating his younger self. 

He caught a judgemental pair of green eyes across the great hall as he shared some of the sweets with his friends. It was a lot easier to stop himself from basking in Potter’s jealousy having experienced living a few years fearing his parents’ deaths. Draco tried to ignore his anger and helplessness at everything that he had to deal with since he woke up as an eleven year old. 

He left breakfast early to read the letter from his mother without distractions. 

‘Dear Draco,

I assume settling into a new environment and timetable has kept you preoccupied. How are you fitting in? Are your housemates friendly? I hope you’re kind to Vincent and Gregory, their parents would be very disappointed if you reject their friendship. 

Which subjects are you enjoying? If you require any additional supplies or reading material, send us a list. Your father hopes all the teachers have been treating you well, please let us know if there are any problems. 

While you’ve been away, I’ve taken the opportunity to begin renovating the playroom into a study for you to do schoolwork when you’re home. It’s such a shame you can’t visit before Christmas. We’ll have a lot of catching up to do.

With all my love, 

Your Mother’

Judging by the amount of questions posed, she must have been anxiously waiting to hear from Draco. In some way, it was refreshing to see her like this, worrying about his enjoyment of the mundane school experience, instead of fearing for his life. Hoping he succeeds in his task to the Dark Lord for their safety, while seeing how much the idea of taking a life weighed on him. 

It would be a lie to say Draco wasn’t tempted to just simply enjoy his childhood again, without worrying about fixing his time travelling problems or figuring out a way to change the future. No matter how much he wanted to leave these issues to someone more enthusiastic or qualified, this time he was tasking himself with a mission he could not fail. 

He wrote back during lunchtime, not wanting to keep his mother waiting any longer. 

‘Dear Mother, 

I’m sorry it’s taken this long to write to you. Homework and making friends have been keeping me busy. As expected, I’ve been sorted into Slytherin. The older students are welcoming, but don’t interact with us first years much. The teachers are sometimes strict, but usually fair. Most of them fawn over Harry Potter, they treat him like some celebrity, except Severus, of course. 

I’ve missed flying around like I could at home, we’re not allowed to outside of lessons and quidditch practice, and neither has begun yet. They say most captains won’t let first years onto the team. 

Lessons are going well, I’ve been enjoying them all, and often do homework together with a study group. We’re making sure Crabbe and Goyle pull through. Most of the first years join in, but the Burzynski twins tend to keep to themselves. Have you and father met their parents? 

For all his fame, Potter doesn’t have any magical knowledge at all. I think a lot of children from magical families come to Hogwarts completely unprepared. It’s embarrassing to watch. 

How are you and father? 

Love, Draco.’ 

Estienne was patiently waiting in the owlery for his reply and a snack. Draco didn’t waste time sending the owl off. 

It took a couple more days, but he eventually worked up the courage to ask for guidance. Who else would be likely to help than his parents’ friend and Head of House, he thought. At the end of their next potions lesson Draco made his move.

“Professor, I had a question” he approached once everyone else cleared out and after telling Crabbe and Goyle to go on ahead. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Severus Snape cleared his throat. “Draco, you’ve continued to impress me with nuanced understanding of potion making. My best students usually don’t engage with the artistry until O.W.L. years. What’s given you trouble?” 

If it weren’t for the fact Draco already got an Outstanding in his potions O.W.Ls, he would have been floored with the praise. It was easy to beat first years when he already surpassed their level before. 

“It’s not related to potions, exactly. See, I’ve been reading a lot about mechanisms and magical objects that are used for time travel. It’s uh... a special interest.”

“And you realise I am not an authority on such items?”

“Yes, of course. I just wondered if there’s a way to borrow a time turner. Perhaps an inactivated one, even. I’d like to examine one in person.” 

It was a long shot, Draco knew it very well, but the chance of success was not zero in his eyes. Severus thought for several seconds, obviously taken aback. 

“A time turner, you’d like to borrow a time turner? Presumptuous boy, even adult wizards and witches have very limited access to such artefacts.” 

“Yes, I understand.”

“And you understand how powerful and complex these objects are?”

“I believe so.”

“Hmm. I don’t know if there is an easy way to obtain one, but I will make some inquiries, if it means that much to you.” 

Draco couldn’t hide his elation at this turn of events even if he tried. 

“Really?! Thank you!”

“Provided you prove a mature understanding of theory and good sense not to mishandle it. Strictly under my supervision.” Severus cut his celebration off.

“That’s more than enough, I won’t let you down.” 

Draco spent the rest of the day in the best mood he’s felt for as long as he could remember. Things were starting to look up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to sprinkle in some Slytherin ocs because there are like three canonical girls. They will be slowly introduced into the story, tried to fit in bits from games, etc. 
> 
> I’m struggling a bit with not making Draco too mary sue-ish. Is he too boring now?


	5. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first flying lesson comes along and plays out as dramatically as you might expect. Draco would like to change some of his failures and embarrassments from the past, but will it work? And is it okay to possibly mess up a future for his own benefit?

He wasn’t sure how, but the cat kept finding him when he was rushing somewhere. This time, Draco, Goyle and Crabbe were on their way to the long awaited first flying lesson of the year, so he couldn’t stop to entertain it. 

They pushed through a group of eager students, trying to pick the best looking old school brooms before the lesson began. These glorified twigs paled in comparison to his Comet Two Sixty back at home, Draco noted.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” Madam Hooch barked at them the moment she arrived. “Everyone stand by a broomstick.”

Once everyone was settled and ready to call a broomstick to them, Draco looked around at some of the frightened faces. Longbottom was expected, but to his enjoyment Potter also appeared uncomfortable. He smirked as his broom rushed into his hand on first try, still irritated by his memories of today. A part of him wanted to prevent Potter from excelling and being let onto the quidditch team at all. A small part.  
It was rather disappointing how many students, even pureblood ones, struggled with the task. 

The teacher spent some time correcting their grips and stances. At least when those mistakes were concerned, Draco had ironed out bad habits.

“Listen up, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground” Madam Hooch instructed carefully. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a couple feet, and descend gently by bringing your balance forward.”

Before she got the opportunity to use her whistle, Longbottom shot up twenty feet with no control over the broom. Everything happened in a blur, the teacher shouted, and he looked down, his face pale as a sheet in fear, and slid right off. The broom took no notice of the fall, continuing its ascent, and disappeared over the tree line of the forbidden forest. Really, the school should have fully investigated the strange pull these woods seemed to enact on magical objects, Draco thought while looking for the orb he remembered picking up.

She picked Longbottom up, and walked off with a warning. 

“None of you is to move before I return! If I catch anyone in the air, you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on.”

“Did you see his face?” a slytherin girl burst into laughter. Ayame Ito held a deep dislike for the unfortunate boy, ever since he accidentally burned an inch off her hair during their first potions lesson. The other slytherins joined in. 

“Can it, Ayame,” Parvati Patil interrupted.

“Is someone in love with Longbottom?” teased Parkinson. “There are plenty other crybabies you can choose from, Parvati.” 

“Unless it’s the squib appeal for you?” Added Ito, smugly. 

Draco spotted the orb and snatched it up. The almost invisible smoke inside rapidly coloured a crimson red. If he remembered correctly, it was a Rememberall, which meant Draco was forgetting something. The useless trinket didn’t even hint at what he had forgotten or how important it was. He felt an urge to smash it.

“Look what we have here. Maybe if he made use of his gift, he wouldn’t have forgotten Hooch’s instructions.” He raised the orb to show it off, to the amusement of his housemates.

“Drop it, Malfoy.” Everyone stopped talking to watch when Potter quietly challenged him.

He smirked as he jumped onto his broom.

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere safe for Longbottom to find... How about a tree?” 

“Give it here!” Potter yelled, grabbing his broom. Granger blocked him off, reiterating the rules like the know-it-all she was.

“If you want it, come and get it!” Draco shouted, and was quickly reminded how powerful Potter became in the air, as the other shot right up to him. 

“Give it back, or I’ll knock you off your broom, Malfoy!” 

He dodged two dashes, the second coming much closer than he would admit. Potter’s natural talent was infuriating. 

“Crabbe and Goyle aren’t here to protect you.” he added threateningly.

“You want it so badly? Then, fetch!” 

Draco aimed at the castle walls with the throw. It was all up to Potter’s natural skill once again. He quickly landed on the grass among fellow Slytherins. Everyone was watching Potter dash straight at the wall with no fear, and perform a decent dive on his first try. Draco tried to stomp down an overwhelming feeling of jealousy. 

As if on queue, Potter’s landing celebration stopped with Professor McGonagall dragging him off, presumably to introduce him to gryffindor’s captain, Wood. Draco comforted himself with the knowledge he didn’t mess up a potentially important event. 

He wasn’t sulking. No matter what they all said before he chewed out Nott and Crabbe. His disappointment in himself was neither eased by his comfortable armchair, nor a purring Hester curled up in his lap.

“Don’t worry, Draco. You’ll get on the team next year,” Parkinson looked up from one of her flashy gossip magazines. “First years basically never make the team. They almost didn’t let you try out!” 

“It’s rigged, anyway. You did better at tryouts than Terrence Higgs. Well, except for fouling.” Added Zabini as he ruffled Draco’s hair from above. 

“Don’t touch me.” He snapped back.

“Not that I care, but Higgs is finishing school this year. They probably just didn’t want to fall out over someone new.” Greengrass said as she swapped Parkinson’s magazine for her essay, which she promised to proofread earlier that day. 

It shouldn’t have mattered that much, and Draco would have only been changing this part of history for his own gain. Perhaps this time around he could have dialled down the endless stories of narrowly escaping pursuit. The guilt he felt over trying out in the first place was probably the reason he felt so bad, Draco reasoned with himself. 

Still, he grabbed a dart from the coffee table and aimed it at a scribble resembling Potter on a broom. It hit a thigh. Draco found it almost as satisfying as fighting with the object of his envy in person. 

As the weeks and dungeons grew colder, they moved onto slightly more involved potions, although Draco still felt stagnant in classes much below his level. One lesson began with the Professor angrily scribbling an extensive recipe on the blackboard. A heavily underlined section warned them about especially volatile steps and stressed the correct stirring technique. Two clockwise, one anticlockwise, and slide up through the centre, repeat thrice between each ingredient added. 

If mocking gossip was to be believed, Longbottom just didn’t ever listen to the teachers. What else could explain his ability to mess up anything he touched? He kept the potion boiling without any stirring, and even swapped around the order of important steps. One of the twins cackled as they swapped Longbottom’s ingredients without being noticed. Ito spent her time narrating in theatrical whispers to nearby slytherins, as Draco worked on his own brew. He could have interfered, but gryffindors getting put in their place was amusing. 

Mostly by pure chance, he looked back on Longbottom’s desk just as the cauldron began bubbling and loudly rocking. Without thinking, he cast a protective bubble shield around the table it was on. It saved nearby students from getting covered with the dangerous contents as it tipped over and rolled across the desk. 

Noticing the commotion, Severus strode menacingly towards the scared gryffindor. 

“Stop, Neville. Don’t!” Granger was also paying attention, yet between her shouting and Severus’ presence they did not manage to stop Longbottom from thoughtlessly reaching to pick up the cauldron without gloves. 

“Ow! Oh no-“ Longbottom’s squeal drew out a couple laughs from the slytherins. 

The boy’s hands were changing colour and slowly swelling where the potion touched skin. He was obviously in pain, and looked terrified.

“Now, Mr. Longbottom decided to show us what awaits those who don’t listen.” Severus drilled each word in. “And how not to treat a spilled potion, especially since Mr Malfoy skilfully protected your faces from the effects. Even the slowest of students should be able to cast ‘wingardium leviosa’ by now.” 

Draco couldn’t stop a quiet snort that time. Severus immediately turned to him.

“Mr Malfoy, I trust you can escort this... complication to the infirmary, mention a blockage in the ears too.”

Draco packed quickly and ushered the crying gryffindor out. As they walked off, he overheard with some glee that Potter found himself in the crosshairs, too.

“Mr Potter, why didn’t you tell Longbottom to pay attention? Did you think if you let him fail you could show off more? Two points off gryffindor. And you will stay behind to clean this desk.” 

Longbottom was clearly suffering, so Draco stopped eavesdropping and pushed him on.

“It could’ve been much worse, Longbottom” he tried offering minor reassurance whenever he noticed their speed declining. “Let’s get you to Madame Pomfrey.”

“What... if she... can’t fix it?” he hiccoughed. 

“Even you can’t mess up that badly.” 

“But-“

“She will. Believe me, I don’t care about you enough to lie.” Draco’s interruption somehow calmed him down enough to stay quiet for the rest of their way. Once they reached the hospital wing, he deposited Longbottom in the capable hands of Madame Pomfrey.

By the time Draco finished going over his research on time turner properties in the library, he’d almost forgotten about the incident and missed dinner. Madame Pince spared him a pitying glance as he bid her goodnight and headed for the dungeons.

He didn’t expect to run into noticeably wound-up Weasley, Potter, and Granger on the staircase on his way down. Draco tried to push past, but they presented a unified front. 

“What, Malfoy. Did you forget your bodyguards?” Potter taunted.

Draco gripped the wand in his pocket tightly, but didn’t draw it out. He didn’t want to hurt them (too much). 

“Watch yourself, I can do much worse than those lugs combined,” he threatened.

“Harry, that’s not what we discussed. Remember?” Granger cut in as Potter tensed in anger. 

“We’re not trying to have a polite chat with that git, Hermione,” Weasley shouted. “Why did you mess with Neville?” 

He stepped back, feeling a tinge of panic despite wielding an assortment of curses that could easily squash these beginners. Even after fighting through a war, Draco never quite learned how to handle unexpected confrontation. 

“Who, Longbottom? I don’t have time to entertain your idiocy.” He sneered. “It’s almost curfew, goody two-shoes like you should be in bed.” 

“Admit it! You messed up his potion.” Weasley’s cracking voice should have attracted some attention by now.

“Harry found completely wrong ingredients on Neville’s desk.”

“Even if I did, he should’ve noticed the difference between them.”

“So you admit it? You can’t get away with it now, Malfoy.” 

They pressed on, following after him up the staircase. Potter skipped a few steps, reaching out for the end of his robe. Frustrated, Draco aimed a simple Jelly-Legs Jinx at him, and ran. 

It was just his luck to choose the abandoned, off-limits third floor corridor to dash into. He could have sworn they were much higher up. Trying to keep quiet, Draco squeezed himself behind a dusty suit of armour and held his breath when the place echoed with pursuing footsteps. 

“Where did he go?” 

“This is the third floor corridor, we shouldn’t be here,” Granger worried. “I want to go back. We can’t get in trouble.”

“She’s right,” he heard Potter sigh. “Let’s just look around quickly and leave.”

A cat’s meow made all four of them jump. 

“Mrs Norris?” 

“That’s Filch’s cat! We have to hide.” 

They rushed towards a nearby door, but it wouldn’t budge. 

“It’s locked! Malfoy must be hiding in there!” 

“Who cares about him, we’re toast if we’re found.”

“Oh, move over you two.” Granger huffed in annoyance. “Alohomora! Get in, get in.” they piled into the classroom with so much noise Draco wondered how on earth they only got caught once out of all the traps he set before. 

He felt soft fur rubbing against his calf. It wasn’t Mrs Norris, but the friendly cat that always appeared at the most inconvenient moments. Except for when it scared gryffindors out of his way, Draco thought. 

He carefully picked up the cat, and turned to leave when the other children screamed their bloody heads off. He turned around, only to see the three pushing the door shut against what looked like multiple snarling, giant dog heads. 

“What on earth were those?” he said out loud, without thinking, then covered his mouth with a hand immediately after. 

They turned around, surprised and shaken.

“You’re still here? Where’s Filch?” Granger asked, then looked at the cat he was still holding, as the realisation dawned on her.

“Did you see that dog? It had three heads!” Potter exclaimed.

“What are they doing, keeping it locked up in school?” Weasley added. “If any dog needs exercise, it’s that one.”

“Filch was never here, you got the wrong cat.” He explained quietly, still somewhat bewildered by what he saw. There were, of course, tall tales and rumours being spread at the end of his first year, but he assumed Weasley made most of it up. Granger looked at him for a while as she thought something over.

“Did you really mess up Nevilles’s potion?” she finally asked. 

“No. What’s the point of meddling if he always fails all by himself?” he answered with a snide tone. They didn’t need to bother and chase him around to come to this conclusion themselves. 

“Well... Stay away from him! And tell your lackeys to leave him alone, too!” 

Weasley stepped forward, as if the height difference between them gave him more authority. Draco had enough humiliation and gryffindors for the night. 

“Why would I ever want to be near Longbottom of all people?” he waved them off to continue his way back to the slytherin common room. “Try to make as much noise on your way back, it’d make my day to find out you got expelled tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one, this time. Really struggling to organise the chapters into something resembling effective storytelling.   
> I don’t want to make this easy on Malfoy, an easy rewrite and redemption would be so unsatisfying. He might know what big changes could try, but he is a coward after all. Plus you can’t change your personality and views that easily, can you?
> 
> Do you want to hear more or less about all the first year slytherins? I have many ideas.


	6. Foul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween and Quidditch bring excitement, and Draco really should think about being kinder to Gryffindors.

Between all the homework, and keeping Zabini and Nott out of trouble with older, half-blood Slytherins, Draco barely found time to look for more obscure books to further his research. If he was honest with himself, ever since he found out going back more than five hours back with a time turner caused so many incidents the research was scrapped, he felt unmotivated and lost.

It was no wonder Halloween was upon them in a blink of an eye. The Great Hall greeted them with thousands of bats swooping overhead, carved pumpkin lanterns on every surface spreading dim candlelight, and golden plates filled to the brim with delicious food. Draco squeezed in between Zabini and Parkinson, and took a moment to appreciate how pleasant it was to be there, if he pretended to not know how quickly the peace will be ruined. 

He snatched up a slice of pumpkin pie, ignoring comments from Bulstrode about the proper order of dinner, then dessert.

“Don’t pay attention to his plate, Millie,” said Zabini. “Draco needs all the sweets to offset his sour personality.”

“Don’t ruin the mood with your cheek. It’d be a shame if Flint found out who spilled ink all over his signed copy of ‘Quidditch Trough the Ages’, wouldn’t it?” he interjected.

“See, how do you fit all that sourness in?” He playfully poked Draco’s cheek, but withdrew it almost immediately, likely sensing the rage building up in him. “Okay, okay. Don’t bite!” 

“Speaking of Quidditch, do you really think Potter is Gryffindor’s secret weapon?” asked Nott. 

The topic interested Crabbe and Goyle enough to divert at least part of their attention away from their plates. 

“He caught that thing you threw in our first flying lesson, didn’t he?” Goyle joined in, nodding his head in Draco’s direction.

“That’s true, but playing a match is completely different.” maintained Nott.

“I hope he gets hit by a Bludger.” Crabbe added mid-chewing. 

“Yeah, and have his broom fly off to the Forbidden Forrest, like Longbottom’s did.” Parkinson reminded them. They continued on describing increasingly ridiculous ways Potter could embarrass himself if he played, until Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall.

He reached the teachers’ table, and with terror on his face gasped, “Troll... in the dungeons. Thought you ought to know.” And passed out.

Before panic fully took hold of the students, Dumbledore got their attention with a series of conjured, purple firecrackers. Draco grabbed a toffee apple, not wanting to miss out on Halloween treats just because Quirrel decided to cause trouble. Weasley’s tall tales from first year gained a lot more credibility recently. 

“Prefects,” Dumbledore began when the hall fell quiet, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Their prefect Gemma Farley, who usually kept everyone in check by inspiring fear, gathered them and the second years up in a matter of minutes. The others were grouped up by the second prefect. 

“Stick together, and keep up! Don’t walk off, or I’ll feed you to the troll myself.” Farley led them, following closely behind a group of professors. Severus wasn’t with them, Draco noticed.

“I didn’t know there were trolls near Hogwarts.” whispered Howell, who now looked even more pale than usual. She kept looking around in fear.

“Mountain trolls live all over Scotland, but how did one get inside the castle?” Bulstrode answered. Zabini added that the creature would have to be extraordinarily lucky to get in itself, having even fewer brain cells than Vincent, which drew a nervous laughter out of the rest of the group.

Draco tripped over someone’s foot as they turned a corner, stumbling right into the stoic-as-usual Kaveh Zamani, the first year who smuggled a magical hamster in to school. 

“Is it puberty, again?” Crabbe grasped at low hanging fruit of repeated comedy, and introduced the rest of first year to the joke in the process. 

Even Farley snorted in amusement. 

“One day, I’m going to kill you all.” Draco grumbled, cheeks burning. “And you’ll realise you brought it all on yourselves.” 

“It does seem like he’s gotten taller, doesn’t it?” He wasn’t sure whether Nott was trying to make him feel better, or subtly rub in the height difference. 

“Can’t be that much of a growth spurt if I’m still taller than him.” said Parkinson, whom he elbowed mid cackle soon after.

It wasn’t until the next morning, as Ito excitedly shared gossip from Padma Patil, a Ravenclaw whose twin was sorted into Gryffindor, that Draco remembered who exactly ended up finding the troll. He rested his head on the table, relieved that once more history appeared to repeat itself despite the small changes he caused. After all, even though she was an insufferable Gryffindor, he would feel guilty if Granger got seriously hurt.

Quidditch season began in early November with a match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. The entire school quickly moved on from Halloween here-say to predict scores, especially the other three Houses. Everyone seemed to be confidently cheering on Gryffindor (and their new celebrity, Potter) to finally dethrone the Slytherin team, hoping it’ll also help end their six year reign over the House Cup. 

That Saturday, most of the student body gathered and fought for the best view in the stands. Crabbe and Goyle spent the wait complaining how unfair it was that the only time students could fly was lessons and Quidditch. For once, Draco agreed. He missed flying around without their Professor shouting directions every two minutes. 

The match was an uphill battle from the start, with Angelina Johnson scoring for Gryffindor. Their beaters were doing the most work disrupting formation and even preventing Potter from catching the snitch the first time round. Draco missed a few minutes, when the groundskeeper decided to block his view. He just pushed through to see Slytherin tie the score, when Potter almost jumped off his broom. 

Feeling particularly vindictive, Malfoy turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “Look at that, maybe someone’s not cut out to fly on a team after all. I wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom. Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?”

Weasley, Longbottom and Granger were sitting right in front of him, but were too preoccupied with looking at the weirdly acting broom to react. It only fuelled his want to get a rise out of them. 

“You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?” he continued, and even poked at Weasley’s back to get his attention. “It’s all pity. See, there’s Potter, with no parents, the Weasleys, with no money... you should be on the team too, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.”

Weasley and Longbottom turned around to face him, both irritated and embarrassed. 

“I-I’m worth twelve of - of you, Malfoy,” he stammered. Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter.

“You tell him, Neville.” Weasley said, unconvincingly.

“Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley.”

Weasley looked ready to swing at him when Granger pulled at Weasley’s hand and gasped, “Oh no, Harry!” 

Potter was dangling off his broom, holding on with a single hand. They all stood in tense silence, the moment stretching out unbearably. Draco tried to think of a good spell to save Potter if he fell, but he wasn’t sure he could cast something advanced without getting caught, or that he could aim at the boy on the other side of the pitch with enough precision for it to matter.

“What’s wrong with Harry’s broom? Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus Finnigan asked; he had ignored the argument just like Granger did to keep an eye on Potter.

“Can’t have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that.”

Draco hadn’t linked the Quidditch incident to the other things that happened in first year; thinking back, it would make sense for it all to centre around Potter every time. Granger grabbed the Half-Giant’s binoculars and found what she was looking for - Professor Snape was casting a spell. She ran off to do something, Draco could only wonder what her plan was. 

Potter was rising higher and higher up, his broom shaking dangerously. Whenever the twin Weasleys flew up to catch him, it jumped and zigzagged. In the meantime, Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing. Everyone’s eyes were on Potter.

“Come on, Hermione, do something” Weasley chanted. He was gripping the binoculars with shaking hands and following the broom’s every move. 

Suddenly, Potter climbed back onto his broom and almost dived straight down onto the ground. Crabbe and Goyle pointed and laughed when he hit the field on all fours and looked like he was about to be sick. 

Madame Hooch’s whistle blew just as they figured out what the golden item in Potter’s waving hand meant. The match was over, and Slytherin lost.

“It was a distraction tactic! He didn’t catch it, he nearly swallowed it! That doesn’t count,” Draco heard Flint scream at anyone who would listen as they stormed back to the dormitory to escape all the other Houses celebrating their defeat. 

That night he decided his interference this year would make no difference to events many years down the line. Especially since Potter had enough people kissing up to him, who could make sure he survived the year. This decision had nothing to do with his success in the Quidditch match and subsequent rise in popularity whatsoever. Draco just chose to get back into research on his own predicament.

That’s why he resolved to finally ask Severus for access to the restricted section. Draco followed him after dinner the next day, and quickly noticed the he was limping. 

“Ahem. Professor, I wanted to ask a question.”

“It is a matter of such great urgency, that you must sort it just before curfew?” 

“No. I-“ he got cut off. 

“Then I see no reason why it can’t wait until tomorrow. I have other things to attend to.” 

“Is your leg injured? What happened?” Draco blurted out, more loudly than he intended. Severus sighed and angrily pulled him into an empty Potions classroom. 

“Insolent child, has your father forgotten to teach you about delicacy and discretion?” 

“Everyone can see something’s wrong...” he whined. “I was worried.”

Severus looked taken aback for a moment, before his eyes turned cold as steel.

“And what exactly did you want out of this show of care?” He asked slowly. 

Draco wished he could start the conversation over, without bringing the injury into it at all. It was obviously a sore subject. He couldn’t tell Severus about the future he has already lived, at best he would be laughed at, at worst... He didn’t want to get locked up at St Mungo’s with all the incurable lunatics. What did he want for caring about one Severus Snape? Well, to have him live past Draco’s graduation from Hogwarts, for example, not that he could say that either.

“The restricted section. I need access to some books, for research.” He said after a pause. 

“No.”

“But Professor, I-“

“I said no, boy. You’ve demonstrated plenty enough carelessness and immaturity. How could I entrust the most dangerous knowledge the school holds to you?” 

With a bit of effort, Professor Snape stormed out of the classroom, leaving Draco alone with another humiliating defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops my bad, my plan was too ambitious. Decided to cut this one short or you’d be waiting forever for any update. Happy Holidays!


	7. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco begins to realise changing the past will not be easy at all, and might cost him more than he’s willing to sacrifice.

While he still jumped out of his skin often, Draco became more accustomed to finding the tortoiseshell cat everywhere he went. Since it helped him scare the Gryffindors, he even went to the trouble of finding treats for the needy creature. He carried them around in a spare potions flask. 

The cat occasionally brought him a gift, usually a thoroughly defeated quill, or a large leaf. That day, its spoils looked like a large, old chocolate frog. He had a snack ready on his palm, his other hand scratching gently behind the cat’s ear. To his disgust when he looked down, the deposited gift on the ground turned out to be a real animal. 

It took embarrassingly long for Draco to notice its slight movement - his attention remained mostly on the cat - but it was definitely still alive. He carefully turned it over with the tip of his wand. Upon a closer look, he could tell he’d even seen it many times before - it had to be Longbottom’s toad.

“You really have it out for Gryffindors, don’t you? Such a clever cat.” Draco rearranged his books to safely place the toad in his bag, after making sure it wasn’t at death’s door. “I can’t believe I’ll have to speak to Longbottom because of you. At least it’ll annoy Potter when he finds out... Let’s keep the gifts inanimate from now on, okay?”

The cat gave no indication of understanding or an answer.

Draco spent most of dinner ignoring Crabbe and Goyle, waiting for an opportunity to speak with Longbottom alone. If only he was planning to be mean, he would’ve simply marched up to the Gryffindor table with no second thought, but being nice to him would be very suspicious. More importantly, it would be embarrassing.

Eventually, after most students have left, Longbottom got up too. Draco made up a vague excuse for his housemates, and followed him out, quickly pushing him into the closest classroom across from the Great Hall. 

“Come with me.” He ordered afterwards, leaving no room for objections.

Longbottom stumbled in with a surprised squeak and kept his eyes tightly closed, as if not seeing would protect him from being hexed. 

“Calm down, if I was going to hurt you I would have already.” Draco now regretted the handful of times he sent mostly harmless jinxes his way. 

“Why did you..? What’s going on?” He stammered.

“I found your pet.” Draco began while pulling the toad out of his bag. “Before you say anything, a cat got to it. It seems fine, but you might want to let the Care of Magical Creatures professor check it over.” 

Before he finished talking, Longbottom had already rushed to him with a cry of “Trevor, you found him!” With no trace of fear or uncertainty left in his countenance, he pulled Draco’s hands apart to see it, and excitedly picked it up.

That lighthearted joy was something Draco had almost forgotten, having chosen to instead put others down to make himself superior long before he felt a need to prioritise self-preservation. Going spitefully against Potter’s wishes suddenly lost its appeal. Helping out just because he could bring that kind of joy felt like something he hadn’t attempted in even longer than experiencing the happiness himself. 

Should he apologise, he questioned himself as the boy in front of him looked the toad over. Longbottom was hopeless on the best of days and definitely wouldn’t be able to help Draco in a significant way, but that didn’t mean he deserved bullying. The regret he felt made him uncomfortable and uncertain about his actions. He was aiming to change for the better this time around, after all.

“I’m... s-“ the apology, however, couldn’t make it past the lump in his throat. “Uh, you don’t have to thank me.” Draco turned around and left as quickly as he could, leaving a confused Longbottom behind.

Ever since the first year Slytherins got better at peer pressuring each other into actually learning, Draco almost started to miss keeping an eye on Crabbe’s and Goyle’s potions, or correcting Pansy’s wand movement in Transfiguration. He still felt proud to have made this change in their circle; now Slytherin was an even stronger contender for the House Cup. He did, however, catch himself absentmindedly helping Longbottom out when he forgot to stir his potion or prepared an ingredient incorrectly. 

“Wrong powder. Are you daft, in which direction are you stirring? Crush it, Longbottom, don’t dice.” He called out careless mistakes whenever he noticed, which was more often than he would like to admit. There was something addictive in showing off his own understanding by pointing out other’s faults to them. He wasn’t sure if being helpful was the goal or merely a side effect. Fewer requests for his help also left him with spare time in the dark, winter evenings. He spent them staring off fearfully into the common room fire, or walking by the frozen lake. Before long, it was time to leave Hogwarts for the Christmas Holidays. 

His mother pulled Draco into her arms the moment he stepped off the train, and pinched his cheek as she let him out of a tight hug. His father levitated Draco’s luggage onto a cart in the interim. He waved goodbye to his housemates, who also came home for Christmas as they made their way to the gate. 

“Look at the state of these children. Their parents clearly didn’t teach them the value of a neat and orderly appearance,” Narcissa turned up her nose at a couple older Hufflepuffs running past them. “Not like you, Draco dear. I see you’ve been representing our family handsomely.” 

They took their time strolling to the nearest apparition point. His father greeted him with subdued enthusiasm and immediately began complaining about Ministry incompetence around this time of year. Apparently some overzealous assistant tried to get a promotion by breaking the statute of secrecy in muggle London. The cleanup took a whole fortnight, and prevented him from seeing his acquaintances in the Wizengamot. 

The Manor stood out from the surrounding white snow with lit candles in every window casting a warm glow. Draco always loved this time of year and all the views that came with it. He left the trunk for House Elves to collect, and stretched out on a sofa by the tall Christmas tree. His mother had once again outdone herself with decorations, he thought while watching nutcracker ornaments battle mouse soldiers as snowflake ballerinas twirled all around the tree. 

“Tell me everything, darling. Even the things you already wrote about, I want to hear it all. What did you do all term?” Narcissa cradled him into herself. 

It felt good to have undivided attention of his parents like he used to, so he talked. Over the days before Christmas, he spoke of the troll scaring everyone on Halloween, about study sessions with Crabbe, Goyle, and the other Slytherins, and his favourite lessons. Lucius congratulated him on making connections among other pureblood Slytherins and encouraged to keep it up. 

“And then Terrence Higgs threatened to crash into one of the Hufflepuff beaters - they were too good at protecting their chasers. We finished almost two hundred points ahead!” He recounted their last match before the holidays. “The team is well on the way for the Cup, it’d be even better if Potter’s swallowing the snitch didn’t count...”

He hadn’t realised just how much he missed his parents, not just from the start of the year. Their relationship was never quite as easy once the Dark Lord returned.

“I had thought keeping you in the country, instead of sending you off all the way to Durmstrang, would be good. Yet we haven’t had a chance to see you since September at all!” Narcissa complained one evening. “I suppose at least we don’t have to worry about the packages spoiling or letters getting lost like they might have in owl post customs. Although, you haven’t been as prolific a writer as I would like in return, I must say.”

Draco had the decency to admit fault in forgetting to keep his mother company through correspondence. He promised better behaviour at least until they had to start revision for exams.

“Hogwarts appears to have really subdued you, Draco,” Lucius remarked on Christmas Day, undoubtedly noticing his diminished enthusiasm when opening a pile of Christmas presents. “It’s lucky the Sorting Hat didn’t mistake your academic pursuits for Ravenclaw values.”

“I heard somewhere ‘what the mind doesn’t understand it worships or fears’, and I wouldn’t choose either for myself, father.” He countered, a little dissatisfied at the implication his behaviour wasn’t Slytherin enough for his father’s liking. 

The Manor didn’t keep them isolated from the world together for long. Busy House Elves woke Draco on Boxing Day, focused on making all preparations for a celebration later that day. He got up and headed to his recently set up study, determined to practice casing non-verbal spells he struggled to master before, while he had some time alone. It was just his luck that the Notts arrived early on a day he lost track of time. Draco was mid transforming a roll of parchment into a snake, when Theodore Nott burst into the room. 

“Merry Christmas! Now this I haven’t seen before. Are you holding out on us, Draco?” 

“What are you doing here so early?” 

“Your dad wanted to meet with mine before the evening. I was told to look for you here.” 

“And you found me. Season’s greetings to you too, Nott.” 

“No need to be so cold. How are you doing advanced transfiguration when most of us barely managed a silver pin last month? Come on, I won’t tell anyone.”

While Theodore Nott was the least nosy out of all the Slytherins Draco knew, he wasn’t an iron safe of secrets. He didn’t spill everything he could at the drop off a hat like some, but did what’s sometimes even worse - used them for his own gain. There was no way Draco would willingly give him the upper hand with such an important secret. He raised an eyebrow with a challenging smirk instead.

“What, didn’t your father teach you magic before school began? Mine must think I’m very promising, to teach me advanced things so early on. Frankly it makes everyday lessons easy in comparison.” He drawled. “I could teach you some things, but I’m just not sure you’re cut out for it.” 

“Oh come on, I’m doing almost as well as you in all subjects!” Nott bristled.

“I suppose I could show you a thing or two.” He offered as a distraction. Only time would tell if Nott believed his story. 

The rest of the guests arrived in no time, filling the halls with laughter and chatter with the backdrop of spelled instruments playing carols. Crabbe and Goyle joined them for a quick game of Exploding Snap, which Draco only lost when the Greengrasses arrived late and needed to be greeted by the hosts. Later in the evening, while waiting for dessert, everyone was subjected to Draco’s barely practiced piano pieces. 

Over the table, his father sang praises of his leadership, maturity, and dedication to his studies so early on. His opinion on these traits apparently had changed quite quickly with an audience, Draco thought.

“He’s the top student this year, could you believe it?”

“I admit there is value in theory, but our Vincent prefers physical solutions for physical problems.” Crabbe Sr. elbowed his son, looking unbothered by his academic performance.

“Well, it’s not decided yet, and he’s got competition for the spot.” Daphne Greengrass grinned across the table. Draco knew she wanted to rile him up, but he mostly made peace with Granger being as good a student as him, if not better. 

“Is that true? Who is it?” asked Crabbe’s mother. 

“Her name is Hermione Granger, she’s been keeping up with me so far.” Draco said. He had to reject views of pureblood superiority sooner or later, he’d seen how far they could fall because of them. The other first years shared a confused look - they didn’t expect him to admit it. 

“Granger... I don’t know any Grangers,” said Lucius. 

“That’s not surprising. She’s muggleborn, father.” The whole table fell silent, interrupted only by spoons clinking against porcelain plates. Eventually, his father spoke again.

“We don’t count mudbloods as competitors.”

“Why not? She already surpassed most of the year, including pureblooded witches and wizards.” Draco continued on. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.” His mother gently intervened. “This girl might seem bright right now, but will no doubt soon be outshined by those with pedigree.” 

“I don’t think so,” he insisted, remembering his own anger at Granger’s aptitude. 

“Well, even then she would be the exception which proves the rule.” His father’s voice held a tone of finality. The topic quickly shifted into safer territory, but Draco still saw the disappointment on his parents’ faces, especially Lucius. He embarrassed them in front of important connections.

He stormed off and slammed his bedroom door shut once the final guests bid their goodbyes, not waiting around for questions he couldn’t answer. Draco didn’t remember ever disagreeing with his parents before, even in the darkest of times. He felt confused and conflicted. Looking back, he had always followed what he believed his father would have done in his place. He never had an occasion or a reason to go against his family’s wishes - well, except not identifying Potter and his friends at the Manor. This time-travelling, possibly changing the future situation was something Lucius never experienced, however, and Draco couldn’t imagine him in it. If he were to continue being honest with himself, making decisions for himself felt both terrifying and empowering.

His visit home dulled the worry he felt about repeating the same mistakes as before. Making a change left him feeling more powerful and in control than ever before. That’s why running into the Muggle Studies professor on the way from Hogsmeade station startled him more than it should have. He froze in place, staring blankly into the distance for long enough to draw attention of his friends. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Goyle. He didn’t answer. 

Ever since the school year began, he’d avoided looking at the teacher table. Draco focused on being able to look at Severus, Crabbe, and a handful of other students without remembering their deaths, so she had mostly remained forgotten. She was alive and unhurt. Talking to her third or fourth year students with excitement about the new term starting. Draco felt sick. With no explanation for his companions, he rushed towards the closest toilets.

That night, after hours of tossing and turning in pursuit of sleep, he dreamt of darkness and distant noises. He was stuck, unable to move, speak, or see even a sliver of light. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing at all, but he tried to hold his breath all the same when unfamiliar voices approached slowly. He was almost certain he heard a mention a snake and his name in their conversation, but every sound was muffled and distorted by his heartbeat drumming in his head. 

He fell out of bed with a cry, lungs burning and tears building up behind his eyelids. Draco felt his whole body shake only after someone held him close. For once, he didn’t have the energy to be angry about getting comforted by a peer. Instead, he let Nott sit by him on the floor until his breathing calmed.

“Sorry for waking you, Nott.”

“Come on now, Draco. We’re all friends here, call me by my name.”

He shook his head without replying. 

“Do you want to talk about what woke you up?” 

“I don’t think it’ll help. I’d rather forget about it, really.” 

They sat in silence once more for a while, watching faint light from the lake dance across walls. It was only once they began yawning that they got up. 

“Goodnight, Theodore.” he whispered as he drew the curtain of the bed. 

He heard a chuckle in return. “You sound like my dad, but I guess it’s good enough for now.”

The nightmare didn’t repeat itself again, but he was haunted by memories of death in his sleep. Ever since the first night Draco cast silencing enchantments around his bed, and ignored concerned looks from Theodore at mealtimes when disturbed sleep started to show.   
By midweek his eyelids were sliding closed to rest in every lesson. Transfiguration was particularly difficult to follow while dozing off - he only managed to partially transfigure his lizard into a green pipe with curious eyes and an ashen tongue. 

“Mr. Malfoy, a word if you please.” Professor McGonagall said once the lesson finished. “You’ve been distracted and unfocused ever since the holidays. Now I understand Professor Snape is your Head of House, and you might want to talk to him instead, but I’d like to see you back in form during my class. Is there anything I should know?”

She levelled him with an inquisitive look he tried to avoid. 

“It’s nothing, a bit of trouble sleeping this week.” Draco said. 

“Is there anything happening in your dormitory that keeps you awake?” He couldn’t tell whether she was concerned for his safety or looking for a reason to deduct points. Slytherin had been comfortably ahead of all other Houses for a while.

“Just some... unpleasant dreams, Professor.” He answered reluctantly.

“I see,” she quickly scribbled a note and handed the small parchment to him. “Take this to the Hospital Wing.”

After thanking her politely, Draco left. If he could obtain a Sleeping Draught instead of waiting for the weekend to brew his own, he wouldn’t complain. As luck would have it, that’s exactly what Madame Pomfrey gave him, right after listing directions - use no more than thrice per week, only a single vial dose, and other warnings he already knew very well. Nevertheless, he thanked her and promised to be very careful. 

Madame Pomfrey turned to the next student, a girl requesting a Pepper-up Potion between sneezes. He almost dropped the vials in surprise when he recognised her. Katie Bell, who nearly died by a cursed necklace he gave her in an attempt to kill Dumbledore. He almost killed this girl, he realised with a sinking feeling in his stomach. She looked up at him with a confused look on her face and sneezed again. 

He had to get away to somewhere quiet and private, to shut off those thoughts. Draco rushed down a flight of stairs and through corridors, pushing slow students out of his way, including a familiar face that towered over him. Draco knew this death definitely want his fault, but it didn’t make eye contact with Cedric Diggory any easier. Something twisted his guts painfully, so Draco carried on as fast as he could to the snow-covered castle grounds.

The Great Lake continued to let Draco escape during the cold months, whenever he wanted to be alone and ride out the panic of helplessness. His hands shook and head throbbed, body and mind exhausted by a barrage of memories. He couldn’t figure out why it was much harder to make peace with these people being alive again than their deaths. By the time he calmed down and felt ready to face other students, Draco noticed it was nearing curfew and he had once again accidentally skipped dinner. Perhaps he could still make it for dessert if he hurried back, he thought. It wasn’t until he was almost at the castle door that he heard the three first year Gryffindors making their way out, trying to be inconspicuous.

He had to follow them, hunger be damned. 

They went down to the hut of the gamekeeper and were quickly ushered inside. Draco cast ‘Engorgio’ on a nearby woodcutting log and used it as a stool to reach the windows. Inside the small room Potter, his friends, and half-giant huddled together around a table. He watched a large egg slowly crack to reveal a tiny dragon, which immediately set fire to Hagrid’s beard with a sneeze. He did his best to hold back a laugh, but somehow still gave himself away, because Potter looked up from the baby dragon and stared directly at him. Draco raised his eyebrows in a challenge, but left as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to be chased again.

Draco resolved not to scheme and get the Gryffindors caught this time, if only to avoid punishment himself. The Forbidden Forest at night still terrified him, and he already had a sleeping schedule to fix. That didn’t mean he ignored poorly concealed discussions about dragons the three Gryffindors held in whispers at the library and mostly empty corridors ever since then. 

On a Saturday more than a fortnight later, just as he was finishing a rare Charms study session with the Burzynski twins, who spent more time complaining about the gap in Hogwarts curriculum for ritualistic spell casting, Longbottom approached them.

“M-Malfoy? Can we talk,” he requested shakily and paled when the twins looked up and asked what he wanted. “...Alone?”

Draco admittedly let curiosity get the better of him just to be led to an empty Ancient Runes classroom. Longbottom tried to begin a sentence a couple times, and appeared torn about some choice. He was nervously fiddling with a tattered book. 

“What did you want to say, Longbottom? I don’t have all day.” 

“Right, um... It’s Ron. I heard he was in the Hospital Wing since last night, so I went to visit,” he stammered. “And I think Harry and Hermione are going to get in a lot of trouble.”

Draco didn’t expect Longbottom to voluntarily inform him about the dragon. He wasn’t sure how big of a change a single neutral interaction could bring, but it seemed excessive.

“Why would you want to involve me? I could get them in trouble very easily.”

“I couldn’t think of anyone else who could help. Stop them, I mean.”

He pulled a letter out from between old pages and passed it to him. Draco couldn’t believe he could gain this boy’s trust so easily. The letter outlined a basic plan - smuggle the dragon from the Astronomy Tower that night. He didn’t have a lot of time to convince Potter to give up. Would they even get caught without him raising alarm first, he questioned himself.

“No, it’s not necessary. Look, I won’t get in their way and keep what you told me a secret, alright?”

“Please stop them.” he pleaded.

“I doubt Potter would stop breaking the rules for anyone, at best I’d probably anger him into making dumb mistakes.”

“Then help them get rid of it. I won’t ask anything else from you again.”

“Just get them to the tower in one piece?” Draco conceded.

“Yes. I knew I could count on you.” He left Draco to ponder on that bewildering statement. 

Potter and Granger arrived at Hagrid’s after ten, and were surprised to find Draco already there, carefully playing with Norbert. 

“What is he doing here, Hagrid?” Potter tried not to look worried. 

“Ah, he came ‘fore yeh. Knew all abou’ Norbert, so I let ‘im in. They get along real well.” The gamekeeper didn’t want to talk to him at first, but was instantly placated when he explained that he meant no harm to his ‘child’. Before the other first years arrived, they only spoke about the dragon’s early development. Draco thought it was the best Care of Magical Creatures lesson the half-giant ever gave. 

“What’s your plan, exactly? Waltz right through the school with a dragon half your size?” he asked.

“Why are you here? You don’t need to talk to us, you already know enough to get us in trouble.” Granger was already putting together signs that he had other motives. Clever as always.

“I’m here to either stop you or help you get to the tower. Depends on how asinine your plan sounds,” he drawled.

Potter visibly bristled, cheeks flushed by anger. He led Granger as far away as the small hut allowed and started whispering. Norbert was getting agitated, stretching its wings out threateningly, and he didn’t waste time before creating some distance. Calming the beast down wasn’t his job, and he certainly wouldn’t put himself in danger for no good reason.

Eventually Granger walked him through their plan, and Potter reluctantly let him try on his Invisibility Cloak. Draco didn’t realise they had it since first year. 

“How do you plan to keep the dragon quiet and calm the whole way there?” He questioned. 

“We’ll give Norbert some food before we go, he might fall asleep,” she explained, obviously worried about it. 

“No good worryin’ abou’ it. Yeh’ll figure it out if something’ happens,” Hagrid tried to comfort.

“Your plan could use a few tweaks, but I’ve heard worse.” Draco concluded. “Nothing that can’t be done on the way, a good silencing spell here or there is all you need.”

“It’s none of your business, Malfoy. We don’t need your help.” 

“I’m not here for your sake, you pillock. You think I care about anything you do? Longbottom begged me to either stop you or help you. Let’s just get the dragon out of the school so I can get back to not helping brain dead, ungrateful Gryffindors.” 

“Ugh, enough you two. We’re all getting the dragon up there,” Granger put her foot down. 

The three of them held their heads down to keep the invisibility cloak covering their ankles. Draco quickly set up a few enchantments to prevent detection and silence any noise they or Norbert made. He ignored Granger’s jealous stare as he cast another spell she hadn’t encountered yet to lighten the weight of the cage. Beside a couple stumbling steps up a staircase, and one scary moment when Norbert sneezed a cloud of dark smoke, all went well. A bored and manic Peeves passed them unawares, giggling to himself about some chaos planned for the morning. They held their breaths despite all other precautions, knowing it would be over if that troublemaker noticed them out of their beds so late. Finally, with a coordinated push, the cage cleared the hatch of the Astronomy Tower. While the others checked on Norbert and celebrated, Draco collapsed onto the stone floor in exhaustion. 

“Physical labour,” he complained incredulously to himself. “For Gryffindors, no less. If we get caught now, that’s it. I’ll die of embarrassment.”

“Why don’t you stop being such a drama queen, Malfoy?”

“Mind your business, Potter. Where are those Dragon Keepers of yours?” He closed the hatch and locked it with a non-verbal ‘Colloportus’.” 

They waited tensely for a quarter of an hour at least, before four brooms flew into view from behind Ravenclaw Tower. One was definitely a ginger Charlie Weasley, who penned the incriminating letter. All four were extremely excited about breaking international magic laws, proudly showing off a harness connected between their brooms for Norbert. Their enthusiasm about dragons and strength intrigued him, he always preferred the theory about magical creatures to practice. They strapped Norbert in, and Draco gently gave it the last of the snacks Hagrid stuffed into the cage. 

“You have a way with it, have you ever considered working with dragons... sorry, I didn’t ask your name before?” Weasley asked. 

“Draco Malfoy.” He expected confusion or immediate dislike to show on his face, but Weasley only laughed heartily. 

“Draco? Well, that explains the connection.” 

Potter and Granger shook hands with the others and thanked them profusely. They all watched on in silence as the Dragon Keepers disappeared into darkness over the Forbidden Forest. 

“We’re done here then, don’t expect help from me ever again,” he lied. If he wanted to keep changing things while he was stuck in the past, he’d have to help them out many more times. 

“We didn’t even want it this time.” Potter spat out.

Granger wasted no time to cast ‘Alohomora’ on the lock and the Gryffindors stormed away. Draco took a moment to sombrely look over the edge of the tower, as he did after every Astronomy lesson. He picked up the Invisibility Cloak, forgotten by the others, likely in their haste to leave him behind. As he began a rushed descent from the tower, he heard Peeves’ uniquely shrill scream of “Students out of bed!”. Unfortunately, by the time he reached the Grand Staircase to help them hide, Mr. Filch was already apprehending his partners in crime. 

What cruel irony it was, that his much altered intentions and actions had no effect on Potter’s and Granger’s ending to that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get this out for Christmas or NYE, but it felt like a behemoth. Hope the dialogue feels at least somewhat organic. 
> 
> I know they’re only 11 now, but i want to plan ahead a little more. do you guys have any preferred ships to be included (main or background)?
> 
> happy new year (:


	8. Camaraderie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had to be Gryffindor impulsivity rubbing off on him. Restlessness easily turns to recklessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, I had to split it again! But only one chapter left this time, promise!

He wished he hadn’t drank the last vial of the Sleeping Draught as he tossed and turned in bed, thinking about Potter and Granger getting reprimanded by Professor McGonagall. It wasn’t his intention to let it happen - in fact Draco wondered just how strangely warped the events from his past had become. The outcomes barely changed even when he inserted himself into the picture. 

Dragons and serpents filled his dreams that night, dancing in the air and under water in complicated loops and twists. It reminded him of rare glimpses of a familiar selkie’s performances in the lake. Snakes, perhaps that was a clue his mind subconsciously came upon somewhere between his obsession with researching time turners and teleporting abilities of magical creatures. Draco woke up late in the afternoon, with a crazy plan. 

He spent the day finishing all homework, and playing chess against Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy, intent on avoiding leaving the common room. The House Elves were kind enough to leave snacks around most nights, and his mother sent more than enough sweets to stave off hunger for a single day, so he had everything he needed to survive. When night eventually fell and everyone headed to bed, he put on Potter’s Invisibility Cloak and snuck out. 

The Restricted Section was laughably easy to access, with no traps or wards to mind even at night. It was a wonder most students didn’t sneak in there at some point, he thought. Not everyone had as great of an interest in dark or powerful magic as Draco. He looked around - there were countless familiar titles, some of which he knew from the Manor library. 

A barely noticeable noise in the distance startled him from simply standing around and enjoying himself. Now he had to rush. He quickly gathered the small pile of books he had listed on an unsigned permission slip, and as an afterthought quickly grabbed a dusty, ancient-looking book with serpent imagery embedded into its leather. 

He began non-verbally shrinking the books to fit them all in his bag, but his hand was shaking from nerves. It was taking much longer than he would have liked. The library was eerily quiet. Suddenly, someone dragged him back by the collar.

“It’s much too late to be catching up on homework, Mr. Malfoy.” Severus Snape whispered, somehow sounding more scary than if he shouted. “What makes you think you are above my authority. How dare you go behind my back to do something I’ve expressly fobbidden!” 

He was dead, he thought. He was absolutely not making it back to his friends. Severus looked ready to have Draco expelled. 

If you just signed the permission slip I wouldn’t have to resort to this, he thought, but didn’t dare say that to an already fuming Snape.

“I thought I made myself clear, but this should get through this thick skull of yours. Fifty points from Slytherin, and detention.” 

“Fifty?!” Draco was glad it wasn’t expulsion, but he didn’t think the Head of Slytherin would want to hurt their chances of winning the House Cup this much. 

“Would you prefer a hundred?” Severus picked up the crumpled book list and checked his pile, equally frustrated and impressed to see some of the books shrunken to less than a quarter of their original size. 

“No... sir.” Draco supposed he should have been patient until Severus gave in and signed the permission slip, instead. How was he going to keep researching if the books he wanted were out of his reach? He didn’t know what other teacher would allow him access before their O.W.L year. 

They walked in tense silence all the way down to the dungeons, where Draco was reprimanded once more. He tried not to be visibly upset when Severus finished by calling him a disappointment and walked off with a swish of his robes. 

Once he was alone in the common room, he checked for Potter’s cloak. It was right where he stashed it when he reached the library. At least he didn’t create another reason for the Gryffindors to blame him.

He shook a small book out of his sleeve. If Snape noticed him smuggling it out, he would have been in a lot more trouble, but it worked. It was thinner than many tomes he had read in the past, but had an elaborate leather cover. Draco wiped off heavy dust obscuring a title: ‘Dunamis Apo Thusia Ofios’. A book on ancient blood magic, obtained through sacrificial rituals with snakes, he understood from a long paragraph on the first page. Flipping through its contents showed a number of gruesome diagrams. 

Draco supposed he ought to read it eventually, considering the price he paid to obtain it. 

“Another bad night?” Theodore asked him on their way to breakfast the next morning. 

“You could say that, I was up reading.”

“If only Greg and Vince absorbed an iota of that dedication to studying of yours, they’d be set for N.E.W.T.S.” Zabini cut in, pretending he didn’t push Crabbe and Goyle aside to get close. 

“It’s good to hear you hold me in due esteem,” Draco joked. 

“If you let me copy your Herbology essay, I’ll hold you in even duer esteem,” Zabini flashed a charming grin that betrayed his vanity. 

For peace of mind, Draco reached into his bag and handed over the scroll. Being in good graces of a few Slytherins would also help him, once they worked out who lost so many points overnight.

“Make sure to change the wording. If you get caught, you’re going down alone.” 

“...That easy? Are you finally admitting we’re friends?” He poked Draco on his cheek.

“Get lost before I change my mind.” 

The four Gryffindors he kept getting entangled with sent him dirty looks across the Great Hall all through breakfast. He wasn’t sure whether it was Potter or Weasley who seemed more furious. He carefully folded a note, asking them to meet him at one of the nearby classrooms after breakfast, and sent it flying across the hall. 

“I see the team is whole again, you must really enjoy being almost completely obsolete, Weasley.” He said when they arrived. He didn’t know why he couldn’t control his vitriol when it came to these people, but he wasn’t in the mood for being nice after the night he had. 

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Weasley’s fists shook beside him. 

“What do you want, haven’t you done enough?” Potter asked. 

Draco only pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and threw it at him in reply. Granger and Longbottom exchanged an exasperated look with almost coordinated sighs. 

“How could you leave them to get caught like that? I bet you’re so happy now.” Weasley huffed in annoyance. 

“Come on, Ron,” Granger placed a calming hand on his shoulder, making him visibly relax. “It was our fault for forgetting the cloak.”

“He probably hid it from us.” Potter didn’t back down. 

Longbottom didn’t say anything, but it didn’t stop him from looking doubtful and betrayed. Draco wondered if the Gryffindors blamed him for getting a Slytherin involved. It almost made him want to take responsibility. 

“I got them up to the tower without any problems. They got sloppy on their way back.” He looked him directly in the eyes. Something in Draco needed him to believe his good intentions. “I did my part of the deal, Longbottom.”

“You could have stopped us from leaving. If it wasn’t on purpose, what took you so long to catch up?” Potter relented somewhat. 

He couldn’t exactly explain his ritual of remembering Dumbledore’s body falling from the tower, or imagining what it would feel like if he fell that night, instead. 

“Don’t pretend you would’ve listened if I tried. It’s not my fault the only thing between your ears is hot air. Honestly, I expected Granger to remember it. She is the only one with brains in this group of yours, after all.”

The young witch looked puzzled, as if she couldn’t decide between being angry or strangely flattered. 

“Besides,” he continued. “Once I noticed your cloak, I ran after you. It was too late to help.” 

The Gryffindors stood in stunned silence. As he took his chance and briskly walked away, Longbottom jogged up to him. 

“Malfoy... thanks,” he smiled widely. “I should’ve known you’d keep your word. I’m glad you didn’t dob them in, and you tried to help too!” 

Before he knew what was happening, they were shaking hands. Draco really didn’t know how to deal with this unexpected connection with Longbottom. Out of all people at Hogwarts, it seemed preposterous for a child of his aunt’s victims to put so much faith in him. 

In a convenient turn of events, Draco found a good opportunity to avoid troublemaking, famous Gryffindors and their friends. Theodore decided to take him up on the offer of teaching him some advanced spells. That Monday, they started off with a couple trickier second year charms. While Theodore picked up the engorgement spell within a half-hour, the freezing charm proved more difficult for him. 

“You know, something’s been bothering me since Christmas,” he said while they took a rest. Draco shook little snowflakes from the spell out of his hair before they started to melt, and raised an eyebrow. “What possessed you to tell your parents that Granger’s a mudblood? And then defend her, too?”

“I wasn’t defending her specifically.”

“It sounded like it was important to you. That they knew she’s muggleborn.”

Draco wondered at the attitude, and his own defensiveness at the line of questioning. Why wouldn’t Nott be confused by another descendant of the Sacred Twenty-Eight suddenly raising someone muggleborn to their level. He had outright challenged the claims of blood purity of most of his housemates in front of their parents.  
The fact remained that the longer he thought about everything he was told about pureblood superiority, the more cracks showed in the beliefs held by his family for centuries. Draco could hardly fathom they could all have been wrong, and felt there was some truth to their axioms he was missing. After all, a system which led to two wars couldn’t possibly be built on such shaky foundations.

Perhaps the cursed time travel he was struggling to escape was in fact a well-concealed gift of hindsight. 

“Well, it would have been a terrible idea to pretend she wasn’t. Can you imagine if they assumed the Grangers were a pureblood family from abroad, like the Burzynskis?”

They both admitted the situation sounded rather funny in theory. 

“Honestly, I don’t see the problem in acknowledging her blood status. She is, after all, the closest to my marks. Don’t you think most of us scoring worse than a muggleborn is more damaging? Why would you lot struggle keeping up with her if we’re not equal?” Draco took in a deep breath and smirked with unearned confidence. “I don’t need such excuses to prove superior - and I won’t fail.” 

If Theodore ever had these thoughts cross his mind before, it didn’t stop surprise showing on his face as he nodded. Draco wondered if he would be as baffled if the roles were reversed. Would he have accepted a shot at his beliefs or rejected it with sarcasm and anger? 

“So, are you trying to be friends with the Gryffindors? I heard you’ve gone off with them a couple times.” He changed the subject. 

“Not in this life,” Draco almost made himself laugh. “They’re just as obnoxious as ever.”

“What’s the deal then?”

“Just... satisfying my curiosity. You have to admit, mocking idiots and the occasional jinx aside, the Slytherin House hasn’t been even remotely engaging this year.” 

“You’re telling me out resident bookworm wants more excitement?” Theodore was getting swept up in the amusement.

“Believe me, we really need it. You lot aren’t even exceptionally dull - that would be too intersting.”

Theodore laughed, and set them both off into a fit of giggles. Somehow, despite the initial tension, everything turned out fine. When they finally calmed down enough to cast again, the spell held out a little longer than before. 

Over the following couple of days, Theodore followed him around, constantly complaining that he wanted to learn something outside of the curriculum. Something advanced. Draco had to give in when Crabbe and Goyle begged him to make Nott stop freezing their shoes and socks every morning. It was rather amusing, Draco thought. 

He spent most of that time deciding what spell would be difficult, but achievable for a twelve year old. On Thursday, just after their last lesson finished, they walked to the edge of the lake and lit a small bonfire of a pile of twigs and broken branches. 

“I’ll show you how to make butterflies out of vapour from smoke.” He explained as they warmed their hands. 

In their lessons with Professor McGonagall they never turned an object in one state of matter to another - it was much more difficult than regular transfiguration. But they did begin learning about it in Alchemy. Draco remembered his passion for the subject trying to draw him away from the Vanishing Cabinet, especially after he found a number of interesting theory and spell books in the Room of Requirement.  
The spell he chose was the easiest he knew, as both the vapour and a butterfly shared a connection through the element of air.

He cleared his throat and with unnecessary flourish released a kaleidoscope of amber-hued butterflies from the smoke above them.  
Draco watched his friend struggle, and pointed out the mistakes ruthlessly for at least an hour afterwards. He intended to keep his promise to not give up until Nott got it right. 

“I broke into the restricted section at night, and got caught.” He blurted out as the fire crackled with Theodore’s another attempt, staring far across the surface of the lake. “That’s why we lost so many points.”

“I know.” Came a calm reply. Theodore stopped casting to talk to him. 

“You do?”

“We figured it out. To be honest, we thought it’ll happen sooner or later considering how many books you’ve been getting through.” Draco wondered which other Slytherins have been paying as close attention to his free time as Theodore. Somehow they managed to be both endearing and annoying in equal measure. 

“Don’t tell me there’s a betting pool.” Draco cringed at the thought.

“Not until now. Thanks, Pansy and Blaise will love that idea.”

“Don’t you dare even think about telling them.” 

“Tell me what you’re researching, and I’ll forget all about it.” He offered. 

“Or I could just threaten you to be quiet. I know quite a few powerful hexes.” 

“I don’t think it wouldn’t stop me for long, and we both know you like my company.”

Draco groaned in frustration. The git wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“...Time manipulation, mostly.” 

Theodore’s eyes shone in excitement. Draco knew he was interested in working on magical objects before, but he never realised how early that passion began, or that the objects had anything to do with messing around with time.

“Can I see your notes?”

“No.” 

“Come on... I’m your best friend.”

“That’s Pansy.”

“I’m your favourite male friend?”

“At this point I’m even willing to consider Zabini before you. Or Longbottom.”

“Please? I’ll owe you a favour.” Draco pretended to consider it, knowing that it was already a lost cause now that Theodore was interested. He should have lied about it. 

“You’ll owe me ten.” 

A note flew in with one of the school owls one day, reminding him to attend his detention that evening. The world was mocking him with the Forbidden Forest, he was certain. What other explanation was there for Professors Snape and McGonagall to set their detentions up together for completely different transgressions.

When dusk turned to dark, he joined Granger and Potter, who seemed pleasantly surprised - perhaps even vindicated - to see him equally punished. 

“Malfoy, what did you do?” Potter asked.

“Same as you two delinquents, you’re here to be punished for breaking curfew.” 

Filch led them to Hagrid’s loudly proclaiming just how much he’d rather torture them as punishment. In Draco’s opinion the Headmaster had a bad habit of choosing child haters as employees.

He kept quiet as the Gryffindors excitedly greeted the gamekeeper, and before he felt ready, they headed into the forest. They stopped by a small puddle of silver liquid - unicorn blood. Hagrid decided to split them up. 

“Harry you go with Malfoy here.” He pointed to a dark path on their left. “I’ll go with ‘Mione. The Centaurs migh’ help us look.”

Draco let the slobbering dog walk off after it’s master this time, he remembered the traitorous coward running off at the first sign of danger. While he looked around, Potter already went deeper into darkness with their lamp.

“Potter, don’t walk off so fast! We should be looking around for blood,” he tried to keep his voice from pitching with fear. What if the centaur didn’t come to save them on time, he worried.

“Just speed up a little, there’s nothing here. Or are you scared?” Potter challenged.

“You wish, scarhead!”

They tripped and slid on roots and damp foliage on their way, but aside from pointing out promising tracks they carried on in silence. Eventually the path opened up into a small clearing.

“Look.” Potter held out his arm to stop him. 

The unicorn’s carcass shone brightly against the dark forest floor in a heartbreakingly beautiful display. Potter took a slow step forward and froze when a slithering, hooded creature emerged from the bushes and immediately sank its teeth into the unicorn’s wound. Macabre would be an understatement, thought Draco as he snapped out of his haze. 

“Potter!” He half squeaked, half whispered. The idiot was standing sill and not reacting to Draco tugging at his arm in an attempt to make an escape together. He pulled harder, dragging them back a couple steps, but he stumbled over a root he didn’t remember stepping over before, and tripped them up. He landed painfully on a pile of branches. Potter dropped their lamp, which cracked and dimmed into nothing. 

The hooded figure raised its head and looked up, sparse moonlight illuminating the silver blood staining its face and coat. Quirrel’s face and coat. The Dark Lord’s.

“Hagrid! We found it!” shouted Potter as loudly as he could. 

The man got to his feet and came swiftly towards them, eyes fixed on Potter. 

“I’m going to die! We’re both dead!” Draco panicked. He lifted his wand and cast ‘Oppugno’ over Potter’s shoulder, as the Gryffindor held onto his forehead, doubled over in pain. A cloud of leaves and twigs pummelled into Quirrell. 

When the spell faded, and with it the attacking flock, he saw the man towering over them. With an ever more frightening expression under the cloak and blood. Luckily, he heard hooves approaching, and in a flash a centaur was jumping over them to chase the Dark Lord away. 

“Firenze...” he recognised his pale hair and youthful features from Divination. He looked into his curious, strikingly blue eyes and realised the mistake he made. How would a first year know that name? 

“Are you all right?” Firenze turned his attention to Potter instead, pulling him up. 

“Yes, thank you. What was that?” 

Draco almost gave in and answered. 

“You’re the young Potter boy.” Firenze said, avoiding the question. He was staring intently at the scar. “You had better get back. You are especially unsafe in the forest at this time.”

It would be untrue to claim Draco was very interested in being a special, prophecised Saviour. However, since he was trying to change the future for the better through getting himself involved with this Chosen One, he would’ve liked some recognition. Potter almost landed on him. 

More centaurs galloped in from the other side of the clearing. 

“Firenze!” one of them thundered. “What are you doing with the human? This is not our place.”

“Do you realise who this is? The Potter boy, Bane. The sooner we get him out of the forest, the better.”

Bane argued with the third centaur - Ronan - about their oath to not interfere in the predictions of the stars. Even more important to Bane was the issue of interacting so closely with humans. Helping those who were so decidedly below him. Draco wondered if that was what others also saw in him. 

“Do you not see the unicorn?” Firenze angered. “Have the planets kept motive behind this act from you? I set myself against the evil lurking in this forest, and I will do so with humans alongside me if I must.”

The centaur ushered Potter onto his back and galloped away to search for Hagrid. Draco was left behind in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, on a night when the Dark Lord regained some strength, with only human-hating centaurs nearby. He didn’t know what to do - Ronan and Bane appeared not to notice him at all, as they examined the dead unicorn. 

“Firenze doesn’t respect our way. And mark my words, if we don’t set him on the right path he’ll betray us to the humans he so loves.” Bane complained.

“He’s still young.”

“That’s why we must insist on it before his character settles.”

“I fear it’s already past that point.”

“He thinks he can align himself against the stars’ predictions, it’s unbelievable.”

“The planets have been read wrongly before now, even we can hope that is the case.” Ronan’s voice drifted off as he peered over the unicorn’s wound. “For now, our future is darkness that threatens to swallow the skies, and flickering light from those who oppose it.” Bane nodded impatiently and disappeared through the tree line.

Ronan looked up and startled to see Draco walk up to him. He also was too focused on Firenze and Potter to notice him until then. 

“What flickering light?” Draco asked. 

“Ah, another student? Do you learn much surrounded by piles of stone?” he asked with a sorrowful note in his deep voice. 

“Not as much as I’d like.” Draco wasn’t sure what answer was appropriate. 

“Not enough. Well, you get something at least.” 

“Can you tell me about the light?” Draco asked again. The centaur slowly looked around, as if checking for an unwanted audience. 

“Humans do not see the messages the stars send us the same way we do. You divine much shorter timelines, but I do not see harm in simply speaking what I see.” Draco followed his eyes up to stare into the sky. Roman didn’t point out where to concentrate his gaze. “There is much flickering in the Northern Ecliptic Pole. Even Thuban has averted its gaze far longer than expected. That answers your question, I believe.” 

Draco knew of those structures, he was certain they learned about them years back while studying the sky from the Astronomy Tower. He only wished the centaurs were more forthcoming with explanations.

“North pole, Thuban... You’re talking about the Draco constellation!” 

“Correct.” Ronan nodded.

“It can’t be right.” It would be absurd if the signs from the stars were that simple. There had to be a different explanation, but... “That’s my name. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Ronan looked him up and down, taken by surprise, but didn’t say anything - aside from “Let me return you to Hagrid’s care.” They walked in silence, Draco lighting his way with a weak ‘Lumos’. When they had the other humans in sight, the centaur turned around without a word. Draco wondered whether he was deep in thought or also unhappy to assist humans. He was greeted by Hagrid’s slobbering mutt and Potter’s remorseful look for leaving him behind. The latter alone was almost worth the whole trouble. 

“Well, then. Now that yer here, time fer you kids to get some rest.” Hagrid gathered them and made sure they stuck close together the whole way back to the school.

“‘Mars unusually bright tonite’... Trust a centaur ter say sommit helpful.” The gamekeeper muttered to himself, as Potter and Granger huddled together to whisper about something. 

Now, Draco knew a thing or two about the way Firenze described Mars in their fifth year lessons - bringer of battle. Hagrid must have been warned about conflict or danger from the start, but didn’t understand. They shouldn’t have gone into the forest at all that night.

He regretted letting Crabbe and Goyle go off with Pansy before him, when Weasley, Potter and Granger accosted him in the library the following day. They squeezed in on the opposite end of the table and looked around, checking if there was anyone within hearing distance.

“About last night...” Potter looked in every direction but where Draco was. Sheepishness didn’t suit him at all, he thought. 

“Whoever decided going into the Forbidden Forest was a suitable punishment should be fired,” said Granger, though it seemed she didn’t blame the half-giant for making two students walk off unsupervised. “We’re only first years.” 

“Scared you both enough to say you never want to break the rules again.” Weasley laughed to himself. 

“Gee thanks, Ron.” Potter rolled his eyes. “Next time you can take Voldemort on all by yourself, then.”

The ginger visibly paled, and together with Granger they looked as startled as Draco felt by hearing the name. Trust Potter to act like a fearless saviour from the very start, he thought bitterly. He tried to relax the anxious scowl on his face and concentrate on the present.

“If you’re just here to practice your comedy routine - which is absolutely horrid, by the way - then I’m leaving.” 

“The thing we saw in the forest, you know it was him,” he said, confidence or frustration strengthening his voice. “It’s only a matter of time before he comes back.”

“And Snape’s helping him!” 

“Don’t be daft, Weasley. It’s not Professor Snape.” He sneered.

“How would you know that?” Weasley asked, while Potter only rolled his eyes again, this time aimed at him. Draco felt his blood boil. 

“I just do.” Of course he knew, since he already lived though these events once before. Pretending to be ignorant with everyone was exhausting. On the other hand, he was barely one step above unaware - he didn’t know enough to prove the man in the forest was Professor Quirrell. Both Potter and Granger looked ready to defend their logic, so he quickly continued. “Either way, what makes you sure he’s still hiding in the forest?”

“You think that You-Know-Who’s in the castle?” worried Weasley.

“He can’t be, he wouldn’t risk it. Everyone knows he fears facing Dumbledore.” Granger reasoned. 

“And he would’ve already tried to kill me if he got in. He almost did in the forest.” Potter added.

“Do you reckon he’s waiting for something to happen?” Weasley asked suddenly.

“Like what?” asked Granger, but he only shrugged in reply. 

“Look, I’m sure you’re enjoying yourselves and basking in my presence, but is this meant to lead somewhere?” Draco couldn’t help the snark. 

“We thought, since you helped... erm, we thought you might know if Snape is up to something.” Potter explained.

“I don’t -“ 

“That’s just brilliant.” Potter’s sarcastic interruption did nothing to hide his worry. It was strange to not wish more distress on him, but now Draco knew how much stress was ahead of the ‘Chosen One’.

“I don’t, but fill me in. Maybe I know something you don’t.” He offered reluctantly to the Gryffindors’ surprise. Draco wasn’t certain if changing the future was the reason he said it. 

Granger took over for most of the explanation, she easily summarised and linked it into a coherent story. From three-headed Fluffy belonging to Hagrid, the troll on Halloween being a distraction to make an attempt to get past it, to the trapdoor and Professor Snape’s subsequent injury. She even explained how she saved Potter during the Quidditch match by conjuring a fire in the stands. Then Potter pitched in to mention a botched break-in at Gringotts and the Philosopher’s Stone. 

While Draco did follow his interest in alchemy for N.E.W.T.S, between his preoccupation with the Dark Lord’s plan in sixth year, and the atrocities of their seventh year, he didn’t have the time to devote himself to the subject. However, what little of the topic he knew, he passed on. 

The Philospher’s Stone was said to transmute metals to silver and gold, heal all forms of illness and prolong life. There were conspiracies about it allowing the creation of a living clone. It was the Magnum Opus of all true alchemists, but as far as they knew, only Flamel ever created one.  
Granger nodded along, she already knew most of what he could barely recall, if not more.

“The only assumption I can make is that the Dark- ahem You-Know-Who needs the stone desperately. So much that he can’t risk going after Potter before he gets it.”

The air was heavy with thought. Every one of them swept up on the responsibility put on their shoulders by their discoveries. 

“Malfoy... If we asked you to keep an eye on Snape for us, would you?” Potter asked, doing very little to hide the signs of doubt and an expectation of rejection. He agreed easily - Draco knew there would be nothing to report on Severus.

“Actually, Potter. I had a question about last night. Did Firenze tell you anything important?”

“He said Voldemort will try to come back, and that another war is coming, soon.” Potter’s serious gaze ignored the way the other three flinched at the name. 

Draco dismissed those predictions with a flick of the wrist. “Riveting, but nothing we didn’t already know. Did he say anything useful?”

“Like hell you already knew.” he answered with equal sarcasm. “No that’s it.”

“Hmm, that’s disappointing.” Draco took a moment to reconstruct the encounter with the Dark Lord. “What about when You-Know-Who attacked us. You were useless, holding your head the whole time. Did he curse you?” 

“It’s my scar-“

“Harry gets these awful headaches,” interrupted Granger.

“Had them all year.” Ever since coming to school, perhaps getting worse, Draco thought to himself. 

“So, do you think it’s linked to Him? The unicorn blood would’ve strengthened whatever effect He has on you...” it was a surprising discovery, and Draco felt it wasn’t a coincidence. 

“See. Even he thinks so too!” Potter turned to his friends, who clearly didn’t think it was a serious symptom. 

Potter didn’t have any clear ideas that would explain the pain, and Draco couldn’t help but wonder what it all could mean. He was tempted to suggest searching the library together for explanations, when all four of their stomachs growled loudly in unison to remind them it was dinner time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lmaooo Greek people please forgive me for butchering your language(s), I know very little of your grammar & was too embarrassed to ask my friend for help. If you’d be kind enough to correct me I’ll gladly change it - was meant to be something like power from snake sacrifice with mostly Ancient Greek words.
> 
> I’m hyped to finish the book and get on with all my plans. (Not me already sketching out plot for the 4th book haha)


	9. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gryffindor trio must have gone ahead without him, and he couldn’t help but worry that they might fail this time around. He had to go risk his life, no matter how much the idea terrified him.
> 
> "Merlin's moth-infested beard. I hate adventuring!" Draco complained.

Draco put in decidedly more effort to regularly write to his mother that term. He often waxed poetic about praise from teachers, between filling her in on the biggest gossip of the week from Pansy, Greengrass, or Ito. He wrote paragraphs about practicing spells with Theodore - who eventually managed to transfigure a handful of butterflies out of smoke, and games he won easily against Crabbe and Goyle. After the hellish detention, however, he penned an entire letter only describing how frightening and dangerous the events of the evening turned out to be. It felt good to vent about the experience to her, and any of his friends who still listened. Pansy loved to get angry on his behalf. 

His mother wrote back the next morning. Both of his parents were riled up and ready to make the school answer for putting their only child in danger. His father, who was on the school board of governors would put something in motion, they assured. She didn’t even ask why he received a detention in the first place. Instead, she urged him to focus on learning and to stay out of the forest, even if a teacher tells him to go there. His father wouldn’t let him get expelled. 

With every teacher reminding them about fast-approaching exams, it was easy for Draco to occupy himself. He spent many afternoons watching spring slowly melt away the remaining blanket of ice and snow on the grounds from the library windows. He only managed to get Crabbe and Goyle to sit and revise with him for half an hour at a time before they lost interest, but he tried to keep them involved. Draco wanted to make up for ignoring and not appreciating their support in the past, even if he hadn’t fully forgiven them for ignoring his orders once the Malfoys lost favour with the Dark Lord. Or almost killing him with Fiendfyre. 

Whenever the two gave up, he somehow ended up with Granger sharing his table. He got along with her surprisingly well when focusing on studying. The other two Gryffindors reluctantly joined, although they spent more time distracting and bothering everyone than really studying. 

“Do you think the Stone’s still there?” Weasley would ask out of nowhere, avoiding his book. 

“Can we really trust Fluffy to keep Snape out?” Potter worried while rubbing at his forehead. 

“If the Stone is the only one in existence, will we stop You-Know-Who from ever coming back by protecting it?” Granger joined in once.

“Yes. Yes. Hopefully, but unlikely. There’s always very dark magic...” he tried not to worry about the stone while learning. Instead, he wanted to believe that whilst Dumbledore was nearby, they would be safe. 

Longbottom popped up from time to time, looking pleased to see Draco there. It was always a welcome break from the awkward air between him and the other two boys. He happily asked questions about bezoars and fairy wings, and brightened up when one day Draco passed him a copy of the History of Magic notes his self-writing quill transcribed throughout the year. He only basked in the envy he saw rising up in Potter and Weasley for a moment, before Longbottom decided to share them out and take turns reading. He was too kind for his own good, Draco thought. 

“You know Malfoy, you’re a right git sometimes, but at least you’re starting to make up for it.” said Weasley with a satisfied smile, relieved to not have to beg Hermione for her notes. He rarely managed to get through a whole lesson without dozing off for at least a few minutes.

He raised an eyebrow, but held back a biting reply for once. 

“So you’re just pretending not to help us.” Potter theorised with a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“Don’t delude yourself, Potter.” He maintained, catching Longbottom smiling at him for a second. As he spoke, he absentmindedly passed a useful sketch of the timeline of important dates to Weasley, corresponding to the pile of notes from the start of the year he received. 

“They won’t learn for themselves if you give them an easy way out.” Complained Granger with a stern expression that didn’t suit her youth.

Ronald Weasley, on the other hand, looked at him with superficial devotion in his eyes, which only made Draco immediately regret showing anyone his notes. Weasley cleared his throat and playfully nudged Potter.

“I’m beginning to think-“

“Good for you, Weasley. Try not to hurt yourself.” He interrupted before anything else could be said, and levitated a pile of books to form a barrier between him and all the others. They dropped into place loudly enough to earn him a warning from the librarian.

On warmer, sunny days he liked to sit by the lake, practicing spells or joining a circle of the most studious Slytherins in quizzing each other. Pansy seemed to have a sixth sense for gaps in his memorised History of Magic facts, and he retaliated in kind when they moved onto Herbology.  
He liked that when his friends had other plans, he still wasn’t left alone with his worries - Longbottom usually appeared to keep him company.

“It’s such a nice day. This time of year is the best.” he said one day in lieu of a greeting, as he dropped on the grass beside Draco. 

“I prefer winter, but spring has its merits.” 

“Winter’s too lonely, I think, but if it was any warmer there’d be a bunch of people swimming... Would you find that too noisy for studying?”

“Perhaps. We should enjoy the peace while it lasts.” Draco leaned over to pick a nearby flower and twirled in his fingers. 

“Do you like daffodils?” Longbottom asked. 

“I suppose so. They remind me of my mother, and despite being common they’re a pleasant enough sign of spring. Nothing like the rare flower breeds from our greenhouse.”

“Oh, you have a greenhouse... So do you grow the daffodils in a garden?” Longbottom sat up straight. 

“We have the manor grounds.” Draco rested back on his elbows, looking at a cloudy sky above them, wistfully imagining he was back in his hometown. “But the flowers grow all over Wiltshire. It’s a beautiful part of England, especially when all the flowers bloom in spring.” 

He rarely remembered it in such a pleasant way anymore, not after the atrocities that occurred there during the war. Everything looked more grey and lifeless than he wanted it to, mocking his inability to let go of the past yet to come. 

“I wish my grandma lived somewhere in the countryside.” Longbottom interrupted his darkening thoughts. “We have a townhouse in Southwark. She had most of the garden paved, too.”

“You don’t have any family living in the countryside you can visit?”

Neville shook his head, but quickly realised Draco couldn’t see the gesture.

“Well, no... They’re very busy, and usually visit us for important holidays.”

Draco hummed in reply. A part of him wanted to invite Longbottom to visit in the summer, but he wasn’t sure if that was wise. He heard him sinking down on the ground with a thump. 

“You know...” he hesitated for a moment. “I wanted to thank you.”

“There’s no need-“ Draco began.

“No, really. You saved me from making a mess in potions so many times, and I- I think I’m not as scared of it anymore.”

“And in record time, it only took most of the year.” Draco wasn’t sure why he had to be rude in the middle of a heartfelt conversation. Sometimes he wondered if he just hated genuine kindness from anyone but his parents. 

“That’s true.” Longbottom deflated a little. “I don’t... I don’t want to disappoint my family, so I need to do well in all subjects.”

Draco found that he could imagine the feeling of pressure to keep to his family’s standard, but except life or death situations during the war, he was rarely aware of not meeting his parent’s expectations. He supposed Longbottom did struggle a lot with school, despite putting in some effort, so their situations were as different as night and day. 

“You’ll pass, it’s easier than you think.” Draco tried to sound reassuring. 

They settled into a comfortable silence for a while, watching crowns of trees sway in the wind and clouds slowly morph into bizarre shapes.

“Thanks for the notes, too.” Longbottom half-whispered. 

“…You’re welcome.” Draco felt himself preen at his efforts getting some recognition. He decided that he wouldn’t mind helping Longbottom out next year, too. 

He usually hated having his birthday overshadowed by looming exams, but it was by no means forgotten. His parents sent two owls bearing sweets and gifts, and the first year Slytherins took the day off from revision to celebrate with him in the common room. If anyone noticed any lack of enthusiasm from him, Draco didn’t hear about it. He had to admit to himself just how strange it felt to celebrate a twelfth birthday when he should be reaching adulthood. 

Finally, the dreaded exams they spent so much time preparing for came around. Every morning they woke up to heated arguments between some of the N.E.W.T and O.W.L-level Slytherins, who couldn’t decide on the best answer to one of the exam questions from the previous day, or couldn’t find their notes for last-minute revision. The first years weren’t much better - Crabbe tried to leave for breakfast still wearing pyjamas, while Pansy and Daphne Greengrass bickered about Spellbound, their favourite all-witch band.

The written exams caused him little trouble, except for History of Magic. He was certain he misremembered the dates and names of inventors who created some of the first prototypes of a self-stirring cauldron - the ones which refused to stop once they began. He made up for it, however, when he had to ask for a whole extra foot of parchment to finish his potions essay, or an exemplary forgetfulness potion, and when even McGonagall called the elaborate snuff box he transfigured impressive. On their last day of exams, he only felt relief when his pineapple started to tap dance across the table. 

His newfound peace didn’t last long. He barely made it to the courtyard before Potter dragged him in the direction of Hagrid’s hut, Granger and Weasley following close, as surprised as him at this development. 

“Let go of me, Potter. I can walk by myself.”

He obviously didn’t realise he was still grabbing onto Draco’s forearm until then, and sheepishly let it go.

“Erm… right. I had an idea.”

“A good one? Don’t answer, I shouldn’t even hope.” Draco snapped back, rubbing the freed arm. His hand was getting some blood-flow back again. 

“Don’t you think it’s a tad odd,” he said as they strayed off the winding path and cut across the grass, “that Hagrid always wanted a dragon, and now that his pet is guarding the Stone a stranger just happens to turn up with one in his pocket? Lucky they found Hagrid, right? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law?”

Draco had to reluctantly admit to himself that Potter might actually have a brain cell or two rattling in his head. He wouldn’t admit it out loud. 

Weasley’s question - “What are you going on about?” - went unanswered as they approached. The gamekeeper sat outside his hut, happily shelling peas into a bowl.

“Hullo,” he greeted them. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?" 

Weasley almost took him up on the offer before Potter cut him off.

“No, we’re in a hurry, but I’ve got to ask something. What did the stranger you won Norbert off look like?”

“Dunno,” Hagrid answered, unconcerned with the sudden question. He probably was used to Potter’s inquisitive streak, Draco thought. “He wouldn' take his cloak off." 

“And you didn’t even attempt to find out his identity? Why would you trust a stranger to dump a dragon egg on you? What if he reported you to the ministry for the illegal dragon?” Draco questioned, as the other three just looked on, stunned.

“Now, not ev’ryone’s out ta get yer, Malfoy. It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up." 

Draco felt his blood boil. How could someone this careless be trusted to look after children in the Forbidden Forest, much less be in charge of defence against the Dark Lord’s return. Before he could give the half-giant a piece of his mind, Potter grabbed his arm again and shook his head. He sank down next to the bowl of peas and continued the questions.

“What did you talk to him about? Did you say anything about Hogwarts?”

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah... he asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after... so I told him... an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon... an' then... I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks.... Let's see... yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it... but he had ter be sure I could handle it.... So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy..." 

“And was he… did he want to hear more about Fluffy?” Potter barely kept his voice calm. He appeared almost as frustrated with the story as Draco, clenching his fists.

"Well, yeah. How many three-headed dogs d'yeh see? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep -" It was too little too late for the gamekeeper to notice he was spilling delicate information, Draco thought when Hagrid gasped and suddenly looked mortified. “I shouldn'ta told yeh that! Forget I said it! Hey -“ 

He shouted to get their attention, but they were already racing up the hill to the castle gates. 

“What a dense oaf. Complete fool. I can’t believe he was chosen to fetch the Philosopher’s Stone or protect it.” Draco whinged, out of breath. No one disagreed with him this time. The Gryffindors walked in silence until they reached the entrance hall. It was empty, everyone was outside, making the most out of the pleasant weather and celebrating the end of exams.

“We’ve got to go to Dumbledore.” Potter said, suddenly. 

“You want to tell him Quirrell knows how to get past the dog?” Draco asked, surprised. He didn’t remember hearing about Potter asking any teacher for help with the messes he got involved in.

“Snape.” Weasley corrected him, still determined to blame the Potions teacher.

“It doesn’t matter-“

“No, look! He’s here.” He pointed to the end of a corridor, Draco turned just in time to see the end of Severus’ cloak disappear around a corner. “Go, follow him.”

“Why me?”

Granger gave him a pointed look, as if he was trying to act stupid. He didn’t appreciate it.

“He won’t find it weird if he catches you, he’s your Head of House. You can just pretend you had a question. We’ll go find Professor Dumbledore.” She reasoned. 

“Alright, already. Try not to do anything too stupid while I’m gone.” He said, not daring to hope it would keep them out of trouble. Longbottom’s worries were getting to him, he thought. And so, he went after Severus.

As predicted, there was nothing to see. Draco followed him all the way to their common room in the dungeons. Apparently, their Head made arrangements to talk with some of the fifth year students about their Potions O.W.Ls. Draco wondered if the Gryffindors managed to speak with the Headmaster. If the old wizard decided to protect the Stone himself - now that the school was about to close for summer - then they wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. He couldn’t remember when the attempted larceny happened last time, and he couldn’t say if his interference would have made any difference to that part of the timeline, but it would be nice to forget about this complication. 

That’s why Draco didn’t realise it would all be coming to a head that evening. He was cheerfully gossiping with Pansy and Daphne by the dying fire in the otherwise empty common room. They decided to stay up to have fun after the stress of exams, and all was going well - until one of them mentioned Dumbledore’s absence at dinner. He couldn’t believe he didn’t notice.  
Draco’s reluctance to look at the teacher’s table backfired and made him miss a vital clue. He stood up so quickly, Bulstrode’s cat Hester dropped from his lap to the floor and hissed at the betrayal. Draco didn’t have time to apologise to it. The Gryffindor trio must have gone ahead without him, and he couldn’t help but worry that they might fail this time around. He had to go risk his life, no matter how much the idea terrified him.

“What are you doing, Draco?”

“Where are you going so suddenly?”

Ignoring the girls’ questions, he dug in his bag for a scrap of parchment and a quill, and quickly wrote to Severus.

‘Professor, 

He’ll try to take it, tonight. If He hasn’t already.  
Please, send for Professor Dumbledore immediately.  
Apologies in advance for my recklessness.

Draco.’

With trembling hands, he folded it neatly, and passed it to Pansy.

“I need you to do me a favour.” He said. “Take it to Professor Snape, as quickly as you can. Don’t open it, it won’t make any sense to you anyway.” 

“Draco, are you losing your mind? What’s going on?” She asked. 

“I have to go take care of something… Don’t have time to explain. Just do as I ask, please.”

She nodded, taken aback by his sudden request. Draco didn’t waste any more time and pushed the painting door open with as much force as his twelve-year-old arms allowed. 

The way up to the third floor was clear and quiet, and Draco wanted it to mean he was wrong. That it was just paranoia taking over his thoughts, and nothing worse than him breaking curfew was happening. A familiar shadow appeared behind him. It was the friendly tortoiseshell cat.

“Go, shoo!” Draco whispered. “If you’re after snacks, there’s none here.”

It stared, standing still for a moment before catching up and tangling itself between his feet. Draco picked it up and placed it away from him.

“You have to go, it’s dangerous. I don’t have time for you right now, there’s a dog I have to tame.”

The cat followed along anyway. 

Draco quietly opened the door to Fluffy’s room, hoping to find it already asleep. He had no such luck - the moment he stepped in all three heads began growling and sniffing in his direction.  
Music, he remembered Hagrid’s words from that morning. That would calm it down. Without an instrument in hand, he decided to hum the first tune that came to mind. He remembered Pansy trying to sing it recently. To his dismay, it didn’t appear to have any effect. Maybe the music needed to be played on an instrument? The middle head snapped forward, teeth bared, the rest of the creature swiftly following. Draco would deny his fearful, high-pitched scream, even if there were any witnesses who heard him, as he dodged out of the way. This was why he preferred theoretical Care of Magical Creatures.

‘Incarcerous!’ Draco conjured rope, which snapped shut one of the dog’s snarling mouths and held it tight. The other two attacked. He jumped out of the way of one, and held the other back with a hurried ‘protego’ shield.

He might have entertained the possibility of running away, if the dog hadn’t moved to block the path during the initial charge. He managed to bind another mouth next, but had to throw himself on the ground and roll out of the way of its claws. A cloud of dust it sent up into the air triggered a nasty cough. He had to be careful, or he would have to rely only on non-verbal spells if he continued to make himself cough. His robes were covered in dust, too.

“Brilliant. Sometimes I hate this school.” He huffed, trying to tie up the last head. It moved out of the way of the spell. 

The cat hissed and clawed at the dog’s tail, which did little to distract it. There was a small harp by the dog’s hind paw, Draco noticed belatedly. He made a run for it, and slid under the creature’s belly towards it against his better judgement. He hoped that he remembered the incantation his mother taught him many years before.  
The harp didn’t start playing on his first attempt, and the dog was quickly turning around to continue snapping and clawing at him. He knew his ‘protego’ was too weak to withstand the force of the jaw and all of its paws for long. 

Draco clumsily plucked at the harp strings with one hand as a last resort. In just a few unpleasant notes the attacks slowed, he only had to step back to avoid the last sleepy swipe of Fluffy’s paw. The beastly dog curled up and immediately started to snore. Finally, he had a moment of respite. He managed to charm the harp to carry on without him on the third try. 

“I do hope they’re down there. We wouldn’t want to face the Dark Lord alone.” He said as he pulled the trapdoor open, heart beating loudly out of time with the music. 

The cat jumped down into the dark without hesitation. He followed along, sliding down limp, slimy tendrils of an injured Devil’s Snare. Its sluggish movements couldn’t even be described as an attempt to grab him, but he moved on as quickly as he could. Lighting the way with his wand, Draco carried on down a stone passageway. This answered his question - there were other trials to keep a thief out. 

A knocked out troll in the next chamber made him jump in surprise, as did the stench permeating the air. Did the Gryffindors get lucky fighting it again, or had the way already been cleared before they arrived? Draco wondered as he bound the troll, just in case it regained consciousness. He didn’t want their escape route to have any unpleasant surprises.

“Help them stay out of trouble, Malfoy. I believe in you. I’ll never ask you for anything else, Malfoy.” He imitated spitefully, talking to the cat. “Longbottom owes me a castle, or at least a statue for all this trouble. Not to even mention this dust and slime… I ruined my robes!” 

It meowed in reply.

Despite having to fight Fluffy earlier, and avoiding the other two dangers entirely, Draco questioned just how difficult a skilled adult witch or wizard would find these challenges, if some first years managed to get by them. He hoped it was enough to incapacitate Quirrell, but not harm the Gryffindors.

A faint echoing whirr and occasional clinking grew louder the closer they got to another room. His imagination, fuelled by fear and adrenaline, was running wild. He pictured enraged pixies, animated skeletons, or another rare, deadly creature Hagrid smuggled from abroad.  
Instead, he found a swarm of fluttering birds. Not birds - winged keys that drowned out most sounds as they circled the room, occasionally clashing with metallic clangs that carried up the tall walls. The only way forward was locked, likely charmed to automatically shut as soon as someone passed through it. Since the previous challenges offered no chance to prevent pursuit, Draco wondered if this was a purposeful addition. Upon inspection, the lock was old and made of a noticeably different metal than most of the keys he could see, except one with a broken wing. It was much slower than the rest. That had to be the answer. But how would he get it?

Before he could think of a solution, the cat sprung up high and swatted one of the keys. The flock sped up and swirled in a tighter formation, soaring up to the ceiling. Draco cast ‘immobulus’ up into the air, but the spell lacked a sufficient radius to deal with them all. A couple golden keys dropped to the ground before his feet. Suddenly, they dove down at him, crashing loudly into the floor as he dodged. The assault continued, as did the ringing in his ears.

“Merlin’s moth infested beard, I hate adventuring!.” He complained. A few keys flew around his shield, and painfully jabbed into his back. Draco much preferred duelling a witch or wizard - he could focus on a single target and protect himself, without worrying about what was behind him. Now, he was stuck avoiding the most damage while trying to come up with something better than a freezing charm. 

The flock of flying keys regrouped above once more, preparing to dive at him in an orderly formation again. Draco had an idea. He jumped out of the way at the last moment, readying a spell. 

‘Ventus tria!’ The jinx sent a powerful air current from the tip of his wand. He aimed it carefully, sending the keys clattering into a corner. The power of the spell pushed him back a few steps and he scrambled to regain a steady footing. Before they flew up once more, Draco conjured a silvery net and trapped the whole flock in it.  
He took a deep, calming breath and pushed some loose hair strands back into place. 

“I think you enjoy getting me into messes just as much as you like helping.” He said to the cat. 

It stretched playfully in reply. The key they needed was struggling weakly in its mouth.

They wasted no time getting to the next chamber. His heels echoed loudly with each rushed step he took on a polished floor. It looked like he found himself on the edge of an enormous chessboard after a particularly long game. Most of the faceless pieces were still, well, in pieces. The white king was missing a crown. He saw a pile of broken black chessmen on the side, a flash of orange among them caught his attention. 

“Weasley!” His shocked whisper carried across the chamber together with hurried footsteps. Draco had to make sure he was still alive. 

Despite a washed out complexion and some bruising, Weasley’s breathing was even and his pulse strong. With a shaky breath, Draco pulled his hand away from the back of Ronald’s head. It was covered in blood. 

He tried not to focus on the feeling of bile rising up in his throat or the shaking of his hands as he carefully levitated Weasley from the debris to a more comfortable, safer location in the corner of the room. He wiped the blood clean onto his robes, which were already beyond saving.

“Ron!” Granger’s shriek filled the room. She sprinted to them, tears running down her face, and sank to the ground next to Weasley. “Please be okay. Just wake up. You’ll be alright.” 

Draco pushed her hands away as she tried to grab Weasley’s scratched up arm. He cast ‘Ferula’ a few times, watching with bated breath as bandages sprung up and wrapped tightly around each wound. He cursed himself for not thinking to bring any healing potions with him.  
When he cast a reviving spell, Weasley’s eyes flew open. 

“Ron, are you okay? Can you hear me?” 

“I’m fab.” Came a pained reply, but he gave them a thumbs up.

Granger only then acknowledged his presence. “And Malfoy? How did you get here? Why?”

“When I realised you morons went on alone… Well, I figured I had to at least try to keep you out of trouble this time.” Only this time the trouble was likely death instead of detention, he thought. Although, at Hogwarts there wasn’t always a difference between the two, was there? He stretched out his vowels to really drill in just how reckless and stupid they acted. 

Weasley tried to sit up and immediately sank down again, dizzy. 

“Neville did suggest to take you with us…” She admitted. “Harry didn’t want to pit you against Snape.”

They both knew it meant they didn’t trust him not to turn on them to protect Severus. 

“Then it’s a good thing Professor Snape isn’t in there” he pointed at the direction from where Granger emerged earlier. “I didn’t say this, but while Potter has good ideas from time to time, he doesn’t stop to consider other explanations.”

Weasley barked in laughter.

“Are you hearing this too, Hermione? I got hit harder than I thought, if Draco Malfoy’s complementing Harry.” He joked.

Draco wondered if Potter was already fighting with Quirrell, or if there were more challenges ahead. 

“Harry’s gone through to the end alone. I didn’t have enough potion left to go with him. Snape came up with a difficult puzzle… you’d have to go through two sets of magical fire. I don’t think there’s a way you can get to him now.” she explained as if reading his thoughts.

“Did he get injured, too?”

“Nah, just me.” Weasley answered.

“Wait until I get to him, that idiot. He’ll be injured, alright. Going off alone to face You-Know-Who!”

The two Gryffindors shared a guilty look, upset they had to let their friend go on without them. They sat together in tense silence for a while until Weasley felt well enough to stand without collapsing. 

“We should go up, get help.” Granger suggested.

“How are you going to get to the trapdoor?” Draco wondered.

“We have brooms from the other chamber. The one with flying keys.” 

“So that was the solution! I’m guessing Potter got to show off his seeker skills to catch it, didn’t he?” Draco tried to keep a tinge of bitterness out of his voice. 

It seemed strange, he had to admit. Somehow, the safety measures keeping the Philosopher’s Stone safe turned out to be a little too good of a fit, as if they were tailored to test the Gryffindors’ abilities. 

“What, you didn’t fly? Then how did you get through?” Asked Weasley. 

“Doesn’t matter. You should go as soon as possible.” He reluctantly let an opportunity to talk himself up pass him by - and this time it would have been completely true. Instead, Draco picked up the cat. It was climbing up the tail of one of the broomsticks and ripping twigs out in the process. “I let Professor Snape know he should call Dumbledore back, but you can send an owl, too. He’s probably not happy about me being here, breaking the rules again.”

He hoped Pansy listened to him this time and one of the greatest wizards of all time was already on his way back to save them. When Weasley passed him the third broomstick, Draco announced he would stay, just in case. They chose not to ask in case of what. With a final nod, the Gryffindors flew off. 

Draco walked further in, hoping Granger’s words would turn out incorrect, but no matter what spell he tried, the impenetrable flames burned on. It had to be another original spell that only Severus knew the counter-spell to. There was no noise, aside from slow scraping sounds as chessmen slowly restored and resumed their positions on the board. 

It felt upsettingly familiar to be stuck so close to the end of his goal, yet remain unable to finish. At least the success of this mission did not determine whether his family lived or not. Not in the short term, he thought bitterly. Draco felt the weight of all trials to come if he wanted to make real change suddenly come crashing down on him, like the flying keys almost managed to achieve. He slid down the wall to the cold floor, as if the pressure was tangibly pushing him into the ground. He almost wished Myrtle was there to comfort him or even just try to divert his attention to her own suffering. 

The cat jumped into his lap. Draco wasn’t sure what he would have done without it. He focused on the feeling of soft fur under his fingers and its intricate patterns of colour as he gently stroked it, trying to calm the panic rising within him. Some noise, distant screams reached him. Draco thanked the stars it didn’t sound like Potter. He wanted to stop imagining how horribly broken the timeline would become if Potter lost tonight. And what if he succeeded? That changed very little, there was so much out of Draco’s control that he had to prepare for. 

“Mr Malfoy, shall we?” Dumbledore appeared before him suddenly, not showing any signs of surprise at finding him there. Draco was so stuck in his thoughts he neither saw nor heard him approach. The Headmaster pointed his wand - the wand Draco took from him once - at the wall of purple flames, which parted to let them through. He waited patiently for Draco to scramble up and follow.  
He scarcely had a moment to look around the next room. It was a tiny space in comparison to all previous chambers. A long table stood by one of the walls with seven unique bottles on it. The smallest of them was open and empty, lying discarded on its side. As he looked around, Dumbledore parted the second, black wall of fire.

It was eerily quiet. The first thing that drew Draco’s eye was a large, decorative mirror in the centre of the room. He wondered what the significance of it being there was, as his gaze fell on a dark shape. He didn’t know from Weasley’s gossip whether Quirrell died or was quietly let go in his past, but the badly burnt body, wrapped in the teacher’s robes, lying morbidly still gave him a clear answer. So that had to mean… Draco stumbled further into the chamber. Potter lay partially obfuscated by the corpse. Draco wasn’t sure how he managed to reach the boy. His legs felt like he was hit with a nasty Jelly-legs Jinx. In a flash he found himself kneeling down beside Potter, hesitantly checking for a pulse. He almost collapsed with relief feeling a faint beat in his wrist and was equally grateful not to see a bleeding head wound this time. 

As he let go, Potter’s curled hand relaxed, revealing something blood red and glassy. The Philosopher’s Stone!  
Draco pried his hand open and grasped the rock. It felt surprisingly cool to the touch. He held it up to the light, and was disappointed to find it looked no better than a cheap, unpolished and uncut ruby. Nothing about its appearance suggested the power within.

“All this trouble for one ugly stone?” He mocked, forgetting he no longer had only a cat for an audience. 

Dumbledore simply chuckled in response as he slowly walked over and stretched out a hand. Draco dropped the Stone onto his palm, glad it was over. It was just a little rock, yet Quirrell died for it in agony, he remembered. He died for a chance to return the Dark Lord to power. Potter, Weasley, Granger - even Longbottom had he been there… All of them could have died for this Stone, to stop what seemed inevitable. It wasn’t the last time they would have to face against the Dark Lord, he was certain. 

“Next time, I won’t be late.” He was shocked to hear himself sound so earnest, as he gripped Potter’s limp hand. 

“Next time?” Draco’s confession brought a shine to Dumbledore’s eyes with the sort of amusement only the well-lived and wise could show. Absurdly, it made him feel both reassured and clueless, as if he was missing the joke while being the butt of it.

He thought about the rash statement a little longer as the Headmaster walked towards the mirror. Yes, he did mean it.  
He had to cease pretending to be uninvolved with the efforts of the rebellion against the Dark Lord. Voldemort, he corrected his thoughts with a shudder. Unless he made this choice, he’d continue missing out on important information and opportunities to truly make a difference to this timeline. Draco had to put his whole heart into it.

“It is admirable to see you so motivated to ease Mr. Potter’s burden… yes, indeed. However, nothing in my not-so-humble opinion can compare to a well of experience. We cannot protect him from harm. Pain must and will come, for without it how should we ever learn?” He spoke cryptically while pulling a heavy fabric over the golden frame of the mirror. 

He didn’t know what he was supposed to read between these lines, if there even was something for him to find there. Did Dumbledore figure out he wasn’t the first year he should have been? Was all this trouble over the Philosopher’s Stone set up by him to challenge the Gryffindors? Had Dumbledore truly begun preparing Potter for war from the start? 

There were no answers available and he didn’t expect to find some anytime soon.

Draco brushed off Pansy’s concern as much as he could the next day, when gossip of previous night’s events began to spread through the school. Apparently, Potter was still asleep, but Weasley would be discharged that evening. The excitement and racing thoughts kept him up long after Professor Dumbledore escorted him to the Slytherin dormitory, so he slept through breakfast. After a hurried lunch, he decided to visit the Hospital Wing to hear about everything that happened without him directly from the horse’s mouth, and recount what he saw in kind.

“Professor Dumbledore passed us by on the first floor, before we could get to the Owlery. He asked if Harry is down there already, and left.” Granger described. 

“That old man knows much more than he’d like you to think. It’s creepy.” He commented.

“Do you reckon he knew about Quirrell and You-Know-Who the whole time?” Weasley sat up in his bed, incredulous. 

“And let him teach and live with us all this whole time? No way!” Granger gasped.

“Absolutely.” Draco answered at the same time. 

They quickly moved on to talking about what Draco found in the last chamber, as they raided the stack of sweets on Potter’s bedside table. Weasley recognised the mysterious mirror as one he caught Harry obsessing over at Christmas - apparently it showed someone the deepest desire of their heart. 

“So, what did you see in it?”

“… I didn’t look.” The ginger tried to lie, poorly. His ears were turning red.

“Weasley, let’s be honest. I don’t think even Longbottom would let you get away with that lie.”

“Oh, fine. But you can’t laugh!” Weasley waved his finger threateningly. “I saw myself. I was Head Boy and Quidditch captain - we won the Cup as well. All my brothers would be jealous if I could do that. Hey, at least mine’s possible. Harry just saw all of his family, and he can’t even meet them without going back in time, can he?” 

Granger whacked him with a book and told him off for making fun of Potter’s situation. Draco didn’t laugh, but not because he wasn’t amused. He wondered if there was a reason Dumbledore hid the mirror under heavy fabric, when it had already served its purpose. Did he deliberately stop Draco looking into it? And if so, why?

“So after all the theatrics over protecting it, Flamel decided to destroy the Stone?” He couldn’t believe it when Granger passed on what the Headmaster told her. “How pathetic, and completely obnoxious… What a waste of my time!”

“Your time? I don’t remember you solving riddles or fighting chess pieces.” Weasley complained. 

“He did help with getting you here in once piece.” 

“Right, right...” He conceded.

“It’s okay, Weasley. I know you’re secretly grateful that I kept whatever brains you have inside your skull. Wouldn’t it be nice if It counted as a life debt?”

“No way. Don’t even joke about it, Fred and George would have a field day!”

He left before Potter could wake, with more questions than answers on his mind, and headed to the lake. It was becoming one of his favourite places to organise his thoughts and feelings. To his surprise, he found Longbottom already there, petting the cat, unaware that it was responsible for almost killing his toad.

“Draco! I mean… Erm, Malfoy. I’m glad you’re okay. I heard - Ron said you went after them to help last night, even though they didn’t ask you to. I don’t know how you found out, but - but I think that’s really great!”

“Were you waiting just to tell me this?” He wasn’t sure what to say. 

Longbottom fiddled with his sleeve, stalling. 

“Yes, I knew I’d find you here. Thank you, again. I didn’t even get to ask for a favour this time, but it feels like I still owe you.”

“Don’t thank me, I didn’t do anything.” He brushed it off. “Potter caught Quirrell all by himself, and the others did their parts. I got there too late.”

“I’m sure you did enough.” He said with enough conviction to stun Draco. 

He couldn’t get used to the faithful support and validation Longbottom dispensed for him generously. It was entirely different to the loyalty Crabbe and Goyle showed him. Their parents wanted them to be close, and he knew from the past that the moment the Malfoy name lost power, they could turn on him. In short, unless something changed they were only using each other.

“Granger said you suggested they take me along. Did you try to stop them yourself this time?” He asked, eager to move on.

“Yeah. I tried to keep them in the common room, but they didn’t listen at all! Hermione petrified me for half the night. She said sorry, of course, but it still wasn’t very nice of her...”

“I think Potter and Weasley are a terrible influence on her.” Draco agreed.

While it wasn’t as much of a surprise this time when green decorations turned red, as the last-minute points took the House Cup away from Slytherin, it still stung the same. Draco took comfort in the Quidditch Cup they managed to hold onto. He wanted to make sure they didn’t lose it next year. 

“Are you proud of your beloved Gryffindors, now?” Blaise mocked. “I think next year we need a really pathetic first year in Slytherin. Maybe if Draco has a new pity project, he’ll give up on Potter and Longbottom.”

A couple of his friends tried to unsuccessfully hide their giggles. Perun Burzynski laughed so hard pumpkin juice came out of his nose, diverting the attention of most of the table. While no one was looking, Draco pinched Zabini’s hand in retaliation. The boy wrenched the whole arm away with a scowl. 

“Don’t worry, Zabini. I pity you more than enough.” He snarked.

“Isn’t it ironic you lost more points trying to read than breaking curfew with Gryffindors?” Pansy joined in on torturing him. 

“Ugh… I hate you all.”

Most of the boys in his dorm woke early the next morning, anxious to see their exam results. They ran out half-dressed to check as soon as the prefects announced it was time, meeting equally dishevelled girls in the corridor. Draco pushed past everyone, even daring to elbow Millicent Bulstrode out of his way, followed closely by Pansy. It wasn’t a big surprise to see most of the Slytherins did well, even Crabbe and Goyle showed some promise instead of barely passing. His eyes finally landed on his own name. He tied for the top spot.

“How did you get extra points in potions?” Zabini ruffled his hair, incredulous. “I bet Granger’s losing her mind.”

Draco was too happy to pretend Zabini’s friendliness bothered him. Nothing could ruin his mood today, he thought.

“Well done, Draco. You’ve definitely earned the right to keep your tutoring position next year.” Pansy chimed in beside him. 

“What an honour.” he replied sarcastically, before congratulating all his friends. 

The compliments didn’t end with the Slytherins. In the courtyard, he found an excited Longbottom, who looked very pleased with himself. After all, his worst fears didn’t come true. He managed to pass every subject - even potions, despite his best efforts in forgetting the forgetfulness potion. Draco assured him that he’ll only improve from there, since he already decided to keep an eye on Longbottom’s cauldron next year. It was too late to stop him even if he wanted to, when he called over Granger, Weasley and Potter.  
Draco took a bit of pleasure from Granger’s frustration at his Potions and Transfiguration scores bettering hers. It was only fair, he reasoned. Since she did better in Charms and History of Magic, they were even. 

Before they could circle back into discussing the Philosopher’s Stone again, their conversation was cut short by Crabbe and Goyle. They were asked to find him, to tell him he was being summoned by Severus. 

Draco worried all the way down to the dungeons. He thought he got away with sneaking out, since Severus didn’t punish him before the end-of-year feast, but he still could be reprimanded. He knocked on the door once. Then a second time.

“Enter.” 

Draco stepped though. Professor Snape didn’t look much more angry than usual, perhaps even less than he could expect any other day. It wasn’t surprising, now that he though about it, when all the loud and difficult students would be gone in just a few hours and wouldn’t return for a while.

“I was told you wanted to speak to me?” 

“I did. There are a few matters I wanted to discuss.” 

Draco prepared himself for a scolding, which didn’t come.

“The Ministry correspondent I contacted regarding a special permission to study a Time-Turner without a charm responded this morning. They do not keep any such artefacts. Each one is either completed or discarded.” He enjoyed Draco’s surprised expression. “However, they may be willing to issue a functional Time-Turner with a special permission, if there was good reason for it. Granted, of course, that you keep up your academic performance.”

“You’re serious? I could borrow one, just like that?”

It had been a while since he entertained the idea. He was so caught up in the theatrics of changing the future, that he almost forgot all about it, just like he was starting to forget he had a life to get back to.

“Not quite. It would still depend on my supervision, and a lot of effort on your part. However,” he paused dramatically, “there’s no reason why you wouldn’t be able to continue excelling. I have to say, your nightly escapades clouded my judgement on how driven you are not only in learning the curriculum, but also pursuing your interests.”

He reached into a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a familiar stack of parchments. The notes on time travel he made throughout the year were no longer in his trunk. There was only one person he showed them to, he was the only one who knew where to look for them.

“Don’t blame Nott for showing me your research, he was determined to make me see your potential.”

“He’s a good friend.” Draco didn’t expect to be moved by someone stealing from him. 

“You may run along now, remember to give my regards to your parents.”

“I will.” He was almost at the door, when he remembered something. “Oh, and Professor. I wanted to thank you for taking my note seriously, and sending for Dumbledore.”

“This pains me to admit it, Draco,” he said with a sigh,” but I haven’t seen a Slytherin so determined to act like a Gryffindor in a long time.”

“It won’t happen next year.” Draco lied through his teeth. “I’ll only focus on studying, and refuse to get swept up in Gryffindor messes ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand cut!
> 
> thanks for sticking around until the end of the year!  
> thanks for all the comments, they really help me stay motivated (and stop the doubts about storytelling ability lol) &  
> see you in the next one?
> 
> (also, i’ve made an inspiration blog @ https://turningintomalfoy.tumblr.com/ if you wanted to check it out ✌🏻)


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